


We See No End, We Don't Know How

by Purpleplasticpurse



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 44
Words: 245,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26008354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleplasticpurse/pseuds/Purpleplasticpurse
Summary: She isn’t sure whose heart will shatter first come morning when the only thing left to say is goodbye. Aaron and Emily from the early days of him working for the Ambassador, and onward to present day. Chapter 44.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner/Emily Prentiss, Some Emily Prentiss/Ian Doyle
Comments: 601
Kudos: 366





	1. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron and Emily, from the early days and onward. Definitely an AU, but not completely out of the realms of possibility.

**Something Just Like This** : _She said, where'd you wanna go? How much you wanna risk? I'm not looking for somebody with some superhuman gifts_

When Emily first lays eyes on the handsome, dark-haired agent perched uncomfortably outside of her mother’s office, she looks him up and down behind her dark sunglasses with mild disinterest.

He’s tall - over six feet, taciturn and aloof, broad shouldered, and wearing a suit without even so much as a crease. She struts down the hallway, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on her destination - the one he’s blocking. Sizing him up, wondering if he’d be just like the rest. If he is, she has no interest in him whatsoever at all.

Emily is lucky he can’t tell she’s looking at him (the sunglasses hide her eyes), but he’s been staring her down since the moment she rounded the corner of the long hallway on the first floor west wing of the ambassador’s sprawling mansion. He’s watching her, his face expressionless, sizing her up just as she does to him. His first observation is that she emulates his definition of spoiled rich girl. The second observation is that even behind the sunglasses, he can tell she’s beautiful.

She smooths her hair over her shoulder and steps past him completely, her heels tapping the marble floor. Without even acknowledging him, she starts opening the door to her mother’s office.

“Excuse me, Miss, you can’t just go in -” Aaron is cut off by another voice, one he recognizes, when the office door suddenly swings open.

“Where have you been, Emily?” Ambassador Prentiss is standing at the threshold, her face icy, lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ve been waiting.”

“None of your business, Mother,” Emily snaps back quickly with a voice full of disdain. She presses past her mother and disappears into the depths of her office. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“You’re almost an hour late.”

“At least I showed up.”

“Do you blame me for worrying?” Despite her evident frustration, the Ambassador gives Aaron a quick nod, as if vouching for the young woman in question. “When will you learn, Emily?”

The younger Prentiss says something he can’t hear, but judging by the look on the Ambassador’s face as she turns her back, it’s not meant for his ears.

The door closes with a firm click, and within seconds, he can just decipher the muffled shouts of his boss and her daughter arguing from the depths of the office.

The dispute continues for the next hour and a half, and suddenly, this job just got slightly more interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!


	2. Two

**Never Say Never : ** _ Picture you're the queen of everything, Far as the eye can see, Under your command. I will be your guardian, when all is crumbling, Steady your hand. _

A few days later, he meets her again, officially. 

He’s making his rounds through the house when he sees a trail of blood through the second floor residential east wing of the Ambassador’s mansion. A series of splattered drops stain across the stark marble floors. It’s not clear where the trail started, but it’s obvious where it ends when he finds himself standing outside one of the bathrooms that he is almost certain belongs to Ambassador Prentiss’s daughter. 

The door to the hallway bathroom is cracked, and he hears a soft  _ damnit  _ from behind the door. He taps his knuckles against the heavy wood. “Is everything alright in there?” 

There’s a moment of silence, and then a sharp clatter as something metal hits the marble. “Everything’s fine!” He recognizes the voice as Emily - his boss’s daughter. The girl from before - with the sunglasses and the attitude.

“Miss Prentiss, can I open the door?” Aaron glances down at the floor, seeing more blood, and wonders if he should call for help. 

“I told you, everything is fine.” Her tone is sharper now, but there’s a sense of panic that wasn’t there just a moment before. “You can leave now.” 

Against his better judgement, Aaron pushes the door open, and finds his boss’s daughter sitting on the edge of the bathtub, clutching a white towel to her foot. There’s blood streaking across the floor and all over the ledge of the bathtub. 

“Why are you -” 

“What the fuck are you doing?” She’s angry now, her eyes flashing as she stares up at him from her position beside the bathtub. The ambassador’s daughter - Emily - if his memory served correctly, narrows her eyes. 

“I could ask you the same thing. You know there’s blood all over the floor in the hallway?”

“Yes, I’m aware,” she huffs, swiping at her foot with the towel again. “Figured I’d take care of this first.” 

He crouches down beside her, gently moving her hand out of the way. “What happened?” 

“It’s not obvious?” She pushes her dark hair over her shoulder, and he sees her hands are also stained with blood. “Clearly just a … little mishap.” It’s almost as if she doesn’t believe her own words. 

Aaron moves the towel away slowly, and blood seeps down her foot. “Hardly.” He carefully peers at the wound, trying to decide if it’s worth a trip to the ER. “You’ve got quite the cut here.” 

“Are you going to keep stating the obvious?” 

“Is there a first aid kit somewhere in here?” The cut itself is pretty deep, but if he can dress it, it might not need stitches. 

“Top shelf.” She jerks her head in the direction of the cabinet on the wall. 

Sure enough, there’s a well-stocked first aid kit where she said it would be. He finds what he needs and sits on the ledge of the tub beside her. 

“I don’t think we’ve met.” She’s looking him up and down in judgment. Judgment of what he’s not sure, but judgement nonetheless. She can’t hide behind her sunglasses this time. 

“Briefly the other day.” Maybe she doesn’t remember, but something tells him she’s smarter than that. “I’m Aaron Hotchner.” He holds the stained towel to her foot, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. 

“Emily.” She warily watches his every move, leaning against the wall of the shower. 

“Nice to meet you, Emily.” Her name rolls off his tongue with ease, and she would be lying if she said she didn’t like the sound of it. Aaron turns the bathtub on, and the water rushes into the tub. “Lean forward. I need to rinse this out.” 

She complies, and winces when the water hits. 

“Too hot?” He adjusts the temperature, gently holding her foot under the tap. “So, you’re not going to tell me how this happened?” 

“Just a clumsy accident.” She dismisses him with a wave of her hand, and he knows he’s not going to get anywhere with her. Emily continues to watch him, her eyes untrusting yet somewhat intrigued. “You’re new,” she says softly. “I haven’t seen you around before.” 

“I started about two weeks ago.” He turns off the water and pats her foot dry with a clean towel. 

“And you haven’t quit yet?” 

He chuckles. “It hasn’t been too bad yet.” 

She rolls her eyes. “You all say that at first.” 

_ You all.  _ Interesting. “I don’t think you need stitches, but you definitely have to keep an eye on this.” He reaches for the band-aids and antiseptic cream. “If it starts to get infected, you’ll need to go to a hospital.” 

“I don’t do hospitals.” Emily flinches when he starts to dab the cream onto the cut. 

“Then keep an eye on it.” Despite the sternness of his voice, his touch is gentle. 

“I could just find you again. You seem to be everywhere these days.” She looks at him through her thick dark eyelashes and drums her fingers against her thigh. 

“I could say the same thing about you.” He meets her gaze, and despite his best intentions, can’t help but notice  _ she’s beautiful, _ just as he’d thought the other day.

She laughs, bitterly. “Not by choice. I should be at Yale, but my mother insisted I spend the summer here.” 

Aaron finishes applying the antiseptic, reaching for the bandaids. “You go to Yale?” 

“You sound surprised.” 

“Not at all.” He unwraps the first bandage and applies it carefully. His observation from the other day - her being a spoiled rich girl - is all but confirmed. “What do you study?”

“I don’t study much, actually.”

He stifles a laugh behind his fist. For some reason he’s not surprised. “I meant what are you majoring in?” 

“I know what you meant.” She pauses a moment before adding, “Linguistics. And English.” 

“Impressive.” Aaron applies one of the bandages. He waits for her to continue, but she doesn’t elaborate any further. 

“Thanks.” She pushes her hair out of her face, already disinterested in where the conversation is headed. Whenever she tells anyone she goes to Yale it’s the same reaction. 

He finishes the task in silence, applying the final bandage and a bit of tape to hold it in place. “All done.” He stands, and holds out his hand to help her up too. She ignores it, gingerly testing out her footing. 

“I’ll ask someone to come clean the floor,” he starts, suddenly feeling awkward. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Emily replies quickly, already reaching under the sink for a towel and cleaning supplies. “I don’t want to have to answer any questions. It’s easier if I do it myself.” 

“But -” 

“I got it. Seriously.” She turns her back to him, already leaning over to scrub the blood off the floor. 

He turns to leave, and he’s halfway out the door when she finally speaks. 

“Thank you, Agent Hotchner.” She glances over her shoulder, dark eyes meeting his through long lashes. 

“See you around, Emily.” When he shuts the door behind him, he’s almost certain this isn’t the last time their paths will cross. 

  
  



	3. Three

**Am I Ever Gonna Find Out** \-  _ Patience can wait for now,I think I've waited for too long.  You always gave a choice, And the right to be wrong _

“ _ Fuck you, Tom. You’re such a fucking asshole.”  _

“ _ You stupid bitch.”  _

There’s a muffled yelp behind the heavy wooden door, and it stops him in his tracks. He’s passing through on yet another round, and with a heavy sigh, checks his watch. 10:48 PM. Twelve minutes until his shift is over, but something tells him he’s not going home anytime soon. 

“ _ Get the fuck out of here, Tom!” _ Her voice is punctuated by the smashing of glass against the marble floor. 

“ _ What the fuck is wrong with you, Emily?”  _ The male’s voice is louder now, angrier, and there’s a thud against the wall. He stops in place, feeling intrusive for even listening in on their conversation, but compelled to intervene. 

He knocks on the door to announce his presence, more forceful than he’d intended. “This is Ambassador Prentiss’s security, you need to open the door.” 

“Go away, man.” The male’s voice again. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Open the door, now.” Aaron glances over his shoulder. There’s a slight pause, the scrape of shoes against the floor, the twist of a lock. 

“Fuck off, dude,” Tom bellows angrily through the door. 

“ _ Get the fuck OUT _ ,  _ Tom. I’m not going to say it again.”  _ He hears Emily’s voice louder this time, laced with a touch of panic. 

The door suddenly swings open, and out stalks a tall, dark haired man about her age, give or take a few years. “I’m fucking leaving, alright?” He holds his hands up, taking a step away from Aaron closer toward the stairs.

“Get the hell out and don’t come back,” Aaron follows him to the stairs, speaking into the microphone on his wrist. “There’s a male exiting the East Wing on the second floor. Show him out and make sure he leaves the premises.” 

From his earpiece he hears a laugh. “Man, you must be new here. This shit happens almost every week.” One of the other security guards is on the other line of his communication unit. 

Aaron holds his wrist to his mouth and watches Tom storm down the stairs, shrugging into his jacket along the way.“What do you mean?” 

“The ambassador’s daughter and her boyfriend … if you can call him that. He comes around a lot … but I don’t know why. They’re always fightin and screamin about somethin or other. Sometimes it goes on for hours. I see him comin - I’ll show him out.” 

“Thanks.” Aaron shakes his head, and turns back to the door he’d just come from, perhaps against his better judgment. 

“Emily?” The door is ajar, so he pushes it open, looking around for her. 

She’s sitting on the balcony of her room, knees curled to her chest, her hair covering the side of her face. “What do you want?” Her voice is thick. 

“Are you alright?” He crosses the room in four strides, stepping onto the small balcony adjacent to her massive bedroom. There are two chaise lounge chairs and a small table. On the table is an ashtray with a half-lit cigarette and several butts, a bottle of wine, and two wine glasses. One is full, one empty. 

“Never better.” She rests her chin on her knees, not even turning to look at him. She’s wearing a pair of silky pajamas that leave little to the imagination, a blanket tossed over her legs. She looks smaller than she did the other day, yet somehow much older, and undoubtedly sad. 

“Who was that?” Aaron stares at her, suddenly cognizant of the fact that she’s wearing very little clothing and he’s in her bedroom. He’s well aware of the implications and rumors this could start if he hangs around too long. 

“No one important.” She reaches for the cigarette and takes a long drag. “It’s none of your business, even though you somehow keep finding your way into mine.” 

“My job is security. The Ambassador’s, but yours as well.” Aaron tries again, his voice firm. “From what I heard, it sounded like it could very well be my business.” 

“He’s just an asshole.” Emily inspects her fingernails, which are bitten to the quick. She’d painted them to make them look somewhat presentable, but they’ve been torn to shreds since. “Always has been.” 

“And yet you continue to let him come around?” He sinks onto the other chaise lounge, watching her face carefully for a reaction, which he doesn’t get. 

“I think you should mind your own business,” she shoots back, stretching her long bare legs out in front of her. “I didn’t ask for your help, remember? You just let yourself in.” 

“To make sure you were alright.” 

“Trust me, Agent. I’m fine. This isn’t the first time Tom and I have fought.” Emily’s fingers close around her full glass of wine, and she holds it to her lips. “I’m sure it won’t be the last time.” 

“You call that fighting? It sounded like he threw you against a door. Has he done this before?”

She laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. Emily waves her hand at him casually. “It wasn’t like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“You’re overreacting.” Emily takes another swig of wine, downing the glass easily before reaching for the bottle to refill. “And, you should probably go, before someone starts looking for you. I’m pretty sure my room is off limits to handsome security agents.” She sets the bottle down with a resounding tap, essentially ending the conversation. 

Aaron stands to go. “If he ever gives you trouble again, call me.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an old index card, hastily scribbling his number on the back. “Day or night. No questions asked.”

She takes the card, turning it over in her fingers and studying it thoughtfully. “I promise.” It’s a lie, but it’s easier than telling the truth. If he believes her (and she knows he does), he’ll leave her alone.

“Goodnight, Emily.” 

The instant she hears the door latch, she sets the index card on fire with her lighter and flicks it into the ashtray on the table. 

  
  



	4. Four

**Enchanted:** _ There I was again tonight forcing laughter, faking smiles Same old tired, lonely place. Walls of insincerity, shifting eyes and vacancy, vanished when I saw your face. _

Emily draws a line on her arm with a sharpie - her fourth tally mark - when she takes her fourth shot, then drops the nearly empty vodka bottle into her purse. There’s enough for each of them to take one more shot on their way.  _ Good. _ “Let’s go,” she slurs, pulling her drunker friend Allison up by the hand. They both teeter on their high heels down the stairs, a mess of short skirts, careless giggles and hushed whispers. 

“Less hurry,” Allison slurs, her fingers wrapped tightly around the railing as they meander to the front door. “S’gonna be too full to dance soon.” She sways on unsteady legs, and Emily frowns.  _ She didn’t seem this drunk ten minutes ago.  _

“Get it together, Al.” Emily loops an arm through Allison’s and says a silent prayer her friend doesn’t throw up in the cab. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

“Good evening, ladies,” a deep voice booms from behind them, and Emily whirls around to see Aaron, the security agent, rounding the corner. She can’t help but roll her eyes. Even though it’s late - after midnight - he’s still immaculately dressed in his signature dark suit, not a crease to be found. 

“Not you again,” Emily mutters a little too loudly, and Allison’s weight is heavy against her. The alcohol is making her feel bold - too bold. Despite the liquid courage, there’s something about him she can’t quite place - something that makes her the slightest bit off her game. 

“S’wrong, Em? Less go.” Allison’s fingers tighten around her wrist. “I wanna dance.”

Emily ignores her and stands face to face with Aaron. Even in her tallest heels, he’s at least several inches taller, yet he’s eyeing her suspiciously. He looks tired. “Agent,” Emily says as smoothly as she can despite the alcohol coursing her veins. “We were just heading out.” 

“Heading where?” He flicks his wrist to look at his watch, his eyebrows knitting together. 

“Is that any of your concern?” Emily buckles under Allison’s weight, because she’s practically holding her up at this point. She’s  _ way _ too drunk to go out, she knows that much. 

“If I remember correctly, my job entails security. Yours included.” He keeps his stare firmly fixed on Emily. “I need to know your whereabouts at all times, especially if you leave the premises.” 

“So you’re like a glorified babysitter,” Emily shoots back, the room starting to spin just a little too much for her comfort.  _ Maybe the fourth shot was a bad idea.  _

“Is he t’one you told me ‘bout?” Allison is  _ so  _ drunk and Emily is annoyed, because they won’t even be allowed in if she doesn’t pull it together. If they even make it out at all.

“Yes, Al.” From the corner of her eye she catches Aaron’s eyes on her forearm - the indelible tally marks clearly visible.  _ Great _ . 

“You sure she’s even going to make it out of here?” Aaron’s attention is on Allison now, clearly concerned. “How much has she had to drink?” 

“I didn’t b’lieve you when y’said he’s cute. I thought he was jus’ some old man.” Allison slurs, her legs starting to give out beneath her. “Always right, aren’t you, Em.” 

Emily rolls her eyes - of course Allison couldn’t keep her big mouth shut, and Aaron is staring at her, looking slightly amused. If she wasn’t half drunk herself she’d have shot Allison down already, but the vodka is making her head fuzzy. She’s just about to drag Allison out the door when the redhead suddenly stumbles forward, a look of panic in her eyes. 

“Emmy, I’m gonna -” 

In one well-timed movement, Aaron reaches for a large vase sitting on the credenza by the door, quickly tosses the flowers aside and holds it under Allison’s chin. She vomits as if on cue right into the container. Emily sinks to the floor, clapping her hand over her eyes in disgust. 

“You might want to reconsider your plans.” 

...

“S’sorry,” Allison groans miserably from the backseat of the car, clutching a bucket in her lap. “No more vodka, right Em?” 

“Sure, Al.” Emily glances behind her. “That’s what you always say.” She turns to Aaron, whose eyes are fixed on the road. “You’re going to want to make a left up here. Then turn right.” 

“I promise, Em. No more vodka.” 

“I take it this has happened before?” He doesn’t take his eyes off the road. 

“Once or twice,” Emily mutters dryly. 

“Tom’s gonn’ be mad, Emmy.”

Aaron’s hand tightens on the steering wheel when that name comes up.  _ Is that where they were going? To meet up with that douchebag?  _

“Don’t worry about it, Allison,” Emily says quickly, sitting up a little straighter. “He’s probably forgotten all about us.” 

“But he -” 

“It’ll be okay.” Whether she’s reassuring herself or her friend she’s not sure, and she wills herself not to look at Aaron.

**_..._ **

Allison’s family housekeeper does  _ not _ look pleased when Aaron and Emily show up at the door, muttering a quick apology. She’d thrown up twice more on the ride home, luckily in the bucket, and she’s taken upstairs before an inevitable third time.

They’re not yet halfway home when Emily feels the beginnings of a hangover brewing between her eyes. Whatever euphoric effects of the alcohol she’d felt earlier are gone, leaving her with nothing but a dry mouth and a headache. She groans before she can stop herself.

“You good?”

“I hope so.” Emily rests her head against the window. “I could really go for some coffee.” 

“I know a place close to here.” He makes a quick turn off the main road, pulling into the parking lot of a brightly lit diner. 

She’s unimpressed - she hasn’t been to a diner in who knows how long. “You come here often?” 

“Used to be a regular.” He kills the engine and comes around to her side of the car, opening the door and offering her his hand. “Don’t judge a book by it’s cover. You might have to adjust your expectations, but it won’t kill you.” 

“I can walk.” She stands slowly, her legs still a little wobbly on her four inch heels. She pretends not to notice his hand that hovers just inches from the small of her back as they walk into the diner. 

The waitress, a harried older woman who clearly knows Aaron, gives her a once over as they’re guided to a booth in the front, her eyes full of questions she doesn’t bother to ask.

“I take it you don’t bring girls here too often.” Emily slides into the booth and stretches her long legs out across the seat. She gingerly rubs at her temples as the headache spreads.

“You’re the very first one.” 

“I’m flattered.” She orders a large black coffee, and on afterthought, a bagel with extra cream cheese. By this point, food is a necessity. 

“A couple of waters too,” Aaron requests politely, pushing the first filled glass in her direction. “Drink that before the coffee.” 

“I’m not a first timer, Agent Hotchner,” she says defiantly, but takes a long swig from the glass. 

“You can call me Aaron, you know.” He reaches for the other glass on the table, studying her carefully.

“I can handle my liquor, Aaron.” 

“Better than your friend, at least.” He points to the black lines on her forearm. She self-consciously tucks her arm under the table. “Is that your shot count or something?” 

“Something like that,” Emily mumbles, and the waitress reappears with her coffee and bagel. She nods a quick thanks.

“Do you do that every weekend?” 

“Just about.” Emily reaches into her bag for a cigarette only to realize she’d left them in her room. “Son of a bitch,” she mutters, resting her elbows on the table. Across from her, Aaron sits absolutely still, clearly observing her every move. 

“So … how long have you lived in DC?” He stirs a pack of sugar into his steaming coffee mug. 

“Going on four years now.” 

“And before that?” 

“Italy. My mother was stationed there.” She decides to be purposefully vague, because she doesn’t quite trust him yet. Something tells her she should. 

He whistles softly. 

“It wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Taking a sip of coffee, she’s relieved for the bitterness that overwhelms her senses, momentarily numbing her from the barrage of memories that come when her brain goes back to Italy. How could she even  _ begin  _ to tell him the truth? 

He’s not oblivious to the weight behind her words, and how tightly she grips the mug in her hands. “What was so bad about it?” 

“Long story.” She busies herself with spreading cream cheese, grateful for the distraction. 

“We’ve got time.” 

“I know what you all think.” Emily takes a bite of her bagel, purposefully changing the subject. “You think I’m another spoiled rich girl. You hear that I lived in Italy for a few years and think it was a glorious, life-changing experience. You think I’m using my mother’s influence for my own personal advantage. ” 

“I - I don’t think that at all,” he stammers, suddenly feeling very put on the spot, because all of it is true.

“You all do. It’s practically part of your job description,” she says casually, studying her torn fingernails. “But something you should know is I hate everything my mother stands for.”

He blinks, surprised by her unexpected revelation. “Is she aware of how you feel?” 

“Of course she is. My mother is a smart woman.” She takes another bite. “She’s in too deep to care. Her loyalties are with her job, no matter what.” 

“I see.” 

“My mother has always put her work first. Above her family.” She swallows, and attempts to hide the heaviness creeping into her tone. “We’ve all paid some kind of price.”

He’s about to open his mouth when she quickly cuts him off **.** “I’m full. Want to finish this?” Emily pushes her half-finished bagel in his direction, and he reaches for the second piece. She attempts to stifle a yawn in her fist.

“You feeling alright?” He’s already reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

“Better, actually. I’m just tired.” Emily downs the last of her coffee. She does feel semi-human again, and thankfully, won’t have any repercussions from the last few hours if she’s able to get some sleep.

“Let’s get you home, then.” He tosses a few bills onto the table and nods a thank you to their waitress. The ride home is silent, and she fights to keep her eyes open as they get closer and closer to the Ambassador’s mansion.

It’s nearing 2 AM when the car pulls to a stop right outside the front door. 

“Thanks for everything tonight.” Emily reaches for her large bag on the floor. “Seriously.” 

“Don’t mention it.” He can’t put a finger on it, but there’s something different about her. “If you ever want to talk-”

The door slams quickly, and she’s gone before he can finish his thought. 

  
  



	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are for chapter 5 - things start to heat up, mildly for now.

**Style:** _And when we go crashing down, we come back every time_

Aaron is less than three hours into a double shift when he already wants to call it a day. It’s been raining since his shift started, so hard it practically rattles the roof. The storms have started to pick up, with thunder rumbling every few minutes coupled with flashes of lightning.

A cup of coffee wouldn’t be a bad idea. 

The house is quiet - the Ambassador is on an annual trip to Spain - and things have been smooth sailing for the last couple of days. Aaron quickly makes his rounds, stopping in the kitchen when he finds her again. It’s been a few days since he saw her last - the night they took her friend home. 

Emily is standing at the stove, focused on whatever is in the frying pan. She’s wearing pajamas - or something resembling them - satiny and just skimpy enough to show the outline of her body - despite it being nearly dinnertime. Her hair is undone, falling in loose waves down her back, as if she’d forgotten to brush it; her face is free of makeup, her feet are bare. She looks younger than usual, and for once, she appears to be relaxed. 

“I didn’t know you cooked.” 

She turns around with a gasp, the spatula flying out of her hand. “Jesus. Don’t sneak up on a girl like that.” 

“Sorry,” he picks up the spatula and sets it in the sink. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Just passing through. Was thinking about making some coffee.” 

“Is that so?” There’s a soft touch of amusement in her tone, as if she doesn’t believe him, as if perhaps she knows his ulterior motives. 

“I’m working a double. Could use some.” 

She nods slowly, jerking her head in the direction of the expensive coffee maker tucked on the opposite counter. “Machine’s over there.” 

He nods, staring at the numerous buttons, settings, and handles. It’s fancier than any coffee maker he’s ever used. “What are you making?” 

“Grilled cheese. Hardly qualifies as cooking.” 

“Good choice.” He busies himself with the coffee, aware of Emily’s penetrating stare across the room. “I make a good one myself.” 

The side of her mouth curls up. “It’s hard to mess up.” 

“How’s your friend doing?” 

Emily chuckles, carefully flipping the sandwich in the pan and turning the burner dials. “Fine now.. She’s been a lot drunker than that before.” 

“Good to know, I guess.” 

“Want to join us next time?” She grins mischievously, taking a step to close the gap between them, her eyes never leaving his. “It could help you loosen up a little.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Aaron moves in this time despite his best intentions, close enough that when she breathes, she gets a subtle trace of his cologne. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t think that would go over well with the head of security.” _Another inch closer_. “Seems like a,” he chooses his words carefully. “A conflict of interest.”

One of her delicate fingers hooks around his tie, dragging him in so his body is nearly pressed against hers.. “Tell me something then, Agent Hotchner. What _are_ you doing here?” Emily asks quizzically, turning her head to the side, her heart fluttering in her chest. 

He swallows hard, and his head tips toward hers. “Making coffee.” The words get caught in his throat. 

“You’re so full of shit,” she murmurs, her lips brushing his. 

It happens before either of them can stop themselves. Aaron lifts her onto the counter smoothly, her slender arms snaking around his neck. His lips are on hers, his other hand digs into her hair and cups the back of her head possessively. 

Emily moans softly into his mouth, sucking gently on his lower lip as he deepens the kiss, both of his hands now wrapping around the back of her head. She gives as good as she gets, kissing him back with the same enthusiasm as he’s kissing her. 

They shouldn’t be doing this. There’s a million reasons why it’s a bad idea, but she doesn’t care, and judging by how enthusiastically he’s kissing her, neither does he. Emily smirks into the kiss and spreads her legs just enough to pull him closer. He’s a _good_ kisser- it makes her knees weak; she’s lucky she isn’t standing. 

His hand graze the smooth skin of her back, fingertips smoothly tracing patterns down her shoulders when they’re interrupted by a shrill, yet familiar ring. 

The smoke alarm. 

“Shit!” Emily pushes him away quickly, gracefully leaping off the counter, switching the stove off and moving the pan out of the way. “Fuck!” Smoke is billowing from the burner, and Emily grabs an apron and waves it at the ceiling.

The noise ceases abruptly, leaving them in a deafening silence. She dumps the ruined grilled cheese into the trash can. “I guess that’s a lost cause.” Emily tucks her hair behind her ear and turns around to face him, unsure of what she might find. 

His expression is unreadable; he has since business himself with his original task. “Coffee’s almost done,” he says softly, pulling out two mugs from the cabinet. 

_Say something, anything -_ she thinks, willing him to grab her and kiss her again. If only she were so lucky. He says nothing, only pours the coffee. 

“Excuse me, Miss Prentiss?” 

They both look up to find one of her mother’s many overworked and underpaid junior staffers in the doorway. _Macy? Marcy?_ Something like that. Macy. That’s right. The girl smiles apologetically, catching her breath because she’s clearly been running all over the house looking for Emily.

“Please, call me Emily.” 

“Emily,” She stumbles over her first name. “The Ambassador is looking for you..” Macy shifts uncomfortably. “You were supposed to meet her in her office at 4:30?” 

“Oh, fuck,” Emily mutters. “I was.” She completely forgot. 

“She’s requesting you come see her now. She also told me to tell you to change into something more suitable.” Emily’s eyes roll in clear annoyance and Macy’s lips turn in just the slightest grin. “I’m just the messenger, but she insisted” 

From his position by the coffee machine, he chokes back a laugh, and she shoots an annoyed look in his direction. 

“For the love of God.” Emily follows Macy out of the kitchen, turning to look over her shoulder just slightly. Her eyes hold his for a brief second; she winks briefly. 

When she’s gone, Aaron stares at the two coffee mugs in his hands, and wonders just what he’s about to get himself into.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! We are in for the long haul here as I have about 30 chapters planned/written so far. Let me know what you think so far, and see you all for chapter 6!


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reads, comments, and/or sends kudos! I love hearing your thoughts as we get further in ... here is chapter 6!

**Staplegunned** : _Do I have to spell it out for your scream it in your face? Oh, the chemistry between us could destroy this place._

He runs into her at the bar of all places, much to his surprise. 

Aaron doesn’t get out much anymore, not that he was ever a huge partier to begin with. But some of his friends from the academy are in town, and he agrees to meet up. Lord knows he could really use a drink or two. Everyone is in a good mood and soon one drink turns into three, and next thing he knows, he’s down eighty bucks and it’s clear it’s going to be a long night. 

He literally runs right into her on his way back from the bar, and half his beer spills on them both.

“Watch where you’re going next time,” she says sharply, clearly annoyed, not even bothering to look up as she blots at her clothes with a napkin. Hearing her voice stops him dead in his tracks because he’d know it anywhere. 

“Emily?” Aaron blinks in disbelief - he must be seeing things. _Surely_ she isn’t standing there right in front of him in the middle of a dive bar. 

Her eyes nearly pop right out of her head; she’s clearly caught off guard. “Aaron? What the _hell_ are you doing here?” Dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket with her hair pin straight and her lips colored with dark red lipstick, she looks like she belongs in a band or something. Maybe it’s the beers he’s consumed, but something about her in leather sends his mind places.

“Some of my friends from the Academy are in town for the weekend.” He shrugs, glancing behind him at the rowdy group in the corner. They’re egging him on obnoxiously. _If only they knew the full story._

“And you came _here_?” Emily glances around, the disdain on her face evident. “This place is a dump. I hate it.” 

“I didn’t pick. It’s close to their hotel. What brings _you_ all the way here?” 

She’s about to speak when inhales sharply, back stiffening like a rod. Her dark eyes lock on something just beyond his shoulder, glazing over with the slightest trace of fear. It’s subtle, but somehow Aaron knows it the moment he sees it. 

“Emily!” 

Another voice - one he recognizes, albeit vaguely - shouts from behind him loud enough to be heard over the music. Noticing Emily’s instant discomfort, he instinctively takes two steps closer to her.

Cocksure and arrogant, Tom swaggers up and immediately puts a possessive arm around Emily, an effective barrier between her and Aaron. “You said you were getting drinks.” Then turning to Aaron, “Who the hell are you?” It’s obvious he’s had too many already, and clearly doesn’t remember their initial meeting not too long ago. 

“Aaron, have you met Tom?” Emily glances between both of them uneasily, willing Aaron to play along for a little while. “Tom, this is Aaron. He works for my mom.” She omits his actual job title, purposefully vague.

_Of course we’ve met. I kicked you out of the house, you damn fool._

“I don’t think so.” Aaron replies stiffly, holding his hand out. “Good to meet you.” He lies right through his teeth, but Emily visibly relaxes at his acquiesce, a brief yet thankful glance thrown in his direction.

Tom squints, giving Aaron a strange look but still shaking his hand. “Uh huh.” He turns to Emily. “Where’s that friend of yours? Pete’s been asking about her since the minute we got here.” 

“I don’t know, Tom. You know Allison is always late.”

“She needs to hurry up. Pete’s not going to wait around all evening.” Tom easily downs his drink in one gulp and sets the glass on a nearby tray. “I’m getting a refill since you clearly can’t handle getting drinks for the both of us.” He stalks away, clearly annoyed, leaving Aaron and Emily in the middle of the crowded bar.

“He’s drunk.” Emily sips her beer, immediately catching the withering stare Aaron gives Tom as he disappears into the crowd. 

“Seems like a recurring theme.” 

“You aren’t wrong,” she says softly, and despite the crowd of the bar he’s close enough that he can hear every word. 

His friends whistle loudly from behind them, clearly oblivious to the situation. Aaron smiles apologetically. “You'll have to excuse them. They don’t get out much.” 

She laughs, this time it’s not forced. “They seem like fun, actually.” 

“They have their moments.”

Emily nods, waving in his friends’ directions before turning back to him. “I should get back … you know.” 

She’s close enough he could kiss her without anyone being the wiser, but getting any closer to her feels like it might burn.

“I’ll see you around, Emily. Have fun.” 

She slips back into the crowd and disappears.

...

It’s well after midnight when he’s officially over it, and with his beer in hand he goes outside for some air. The back deck of the bar surprisingly isn’t crowded; he’s grateful for the reprieve from the smoke, the noise, the people. _Especially the people_. 

“Thought I might find you out here.” The tap of her heels against the ground gets louder until she’s finally standing beside him, close enough that he gets a whiff of her perfume if he shifts just slightly to the left.

“Needed some air.”

“That makes two of us.” She takes a few slow, deep breaths of air, as if steadying herself.

“Does _he_ know where you are?” Aaron leans over the railing, resting his forearms on the top. 

“Tom is … preoccupied at the moment,” Emily twirls her hair around her finger, glancing briefly over her shoulder. “We have some time.” 

“What about the rest of your friends?” 

“They’re not my friends, that’s for damn sure.” She laughs, albeit bitterly, and he can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for her.

“I see.” 

There’s a breeze; it gently blows her hair around her face and the long strands tickle his cheek and he’s not sure where her body ends and his begins. They sip their drinks in silence, hands inching closer and closer until their fingers are joined loosely. 

“Thanks for not making it awkward earlier.” Emily leans over the railing, staring at the darkened ripples of water below. “The less he knows about you, probably the better.”

Aaron stares at her questioningly. “What _does_ he know, Emily?” 

“If you’re talking about the other day,” she begins, her tone etched with the smallest bit of guilt.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” He’s thought about it almost constantly since it happened - how her lips melded into his, the bend of her arms around his neck, the curve of her body pressed against his. All of it - and just how much he wants to do it again, despite his best intentions. 

“He doesn’t have to find out,” Emily peels at the label on her beer and rolls the pieces between her bitten fingernails. “There’s a lot he doesn’t know. A lot he’ll never know.” 

“So you’re lying to him.”

“Wouldn’t you?” 

“I don’t want to be a part of your lies,” Aaron says just a little too bitterly, and instantly regrets his choice of words.

Emily recoils as if she’s been stung, hurt flashing across her face **.** “You seemed to be a willing participant the last time,” she bites back, searching his eyes for something she can’t explain **.**

“It shouldn’t have happened.” Even if there’s truth to what he’s saying, he doesn’t fully believe it. 

“You don’t mean that,” she dares him, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”

Emily shakes her head slowly, watching his face carefully. “I don’t regret it. I’d do it again in a second.” And then, as if to prove her point, she cranes her neck - even in her heels she’s at least a head shorter than he is - and kisses him for the second time.

He can’t help himself - his fingers immediately dig into her hair, drawing her in until she’s flush against him, the curves of her body filling in the sharp lines of his own. Aaron kisses her back with almost bruising force, his tongue sliding into her mouth, his teeth sinking down onto her lower lip. Emily moans instantly - a mix of anguish and something that sounds like relief; he backs her up, pins her against the railing and breathes her in. His nose buries in her hair as he continues leaving kisses down her jaw. 

“Be careful,” she sighs into his shoulder as he gently bites into her neck and down her collarbone. “No marks.” Emily’s fingernails press into his back, a sharp reminder of exactly why _this_ is such a bad idea. Yet he continues, moving his mouth back up to cover hers. His hands move from her hair down her body, smoothing over her back and down further, slipping underneath the hem of her shirt and sliding up. 

“Aaron,” Emily’s low voice in his ear brings him back to earth, pushing his hands away from the inevitable destination of her lace-covered breasts. “Aaron,” she’s breathing fast and pulling back, her hands braced against his chest for leverage. 

“I have to go,” she rakes her fingers through her hair and tugs at her clothes. “I have to get back before …” She trails off; there’s no need for an explanation 

He swallows thickly, nodding in agreement. “Go.”

Before she loses her nerve she pulls him toward her, kissing him long and slow one more time. “Goodnight, Aaron.” There’s something in her voice that sounds oddly like finality, and she turns sharply on her heel and disappears back into the dark bar.

  
  



	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you happy?" She lifts her head, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "I am right now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who takes a minute to review, favorite, etc. I love hearing your thoughts and observations so keep them coming - it makes my day to see them pop up! Here is Chapter 7 - things are still burning slowly with these two and all their complications ... and things will start to get angsty in the next few chapters. Enjoy!

**Wildest Dreams** : _I thought, Heaven can't help me now. Nothing lasts forever. But this is gonna take me down_

Almost a week later, he’s asked to accompany the Ambassador and her team on a trip to Paris at the last minute. He wants to say no, but he’s offered a “small” bonus to “make up for the inconvenience.” The small bonus is the equivalent of two weeks’ pay. He could really use the extra money, and reluctantly says yes. 

Two days later, he’s sitting on the ambassador’s private plane to Paris at the crack of dawn, wondering why the hell he ever agreed to this. 

Aaron is surprised when Emily boards the plane at the very last second. She looks clearly worse for wear, her face hidden by a pair of massive sunglasses, a large water bottle in her hand as she shuffles down the aisle. Definitely hungover, he observes, watching her pointedly avoid her mother’s piercing stare, finding the seat furthest away from her. 

That seat happens to be conveniently next to him. 

“This seat taken?” 

He shakes his head. “All yours.” 

She nods in a half-hearted attempt of a greeting, slowly lowering herself down, leaving her sunglasses on. 

“Long night?” 

“You could say that.” Emily tosses her carry-on bag onto the floor and takes a long sip of water. “I feel like shit. I’d kill for a bagel right about now.” 

He tosses the bag of pretzels he’d grabbed from the snack stash at her. “Best I can do.” Turning back to his book, he watches her from the corner of his eye. Judging by how stiffly she moves and just how much effort it appears to take her to keep herself upright, he’s certain the next few hours will be fairly miserable for her. 

Emily plucks at the bag with her fingers. “Thanks.” Even in her ridiculously hungover state she appears to be analyzing him. She pulls her sunglasses off to reveal severely bloodshot eyes ringed with dark circles. She clearly hasn’t slept much, if at all, yet her mind is clearly still running. “So … what did your friends have to say about you disappearing on them last week?”

He lifts an eyebrow, because of course she would bring that up, and he wonders if it’s a test. “They had their suspicions.” What he doesn’t mention is all the grief they’d given him when he returned to the table with a lipstick stain on the side of his neck, grilling him about the girl in the bar.

“What did you tell them?” 

“The truth.” 

“Which part?” 

“Do you really want to know?,” he asks teasingly, enjoying the reaction he gets from her. 

“Just making sure I don’t need to do any damage control,” she says dryly. 

“That secret is safe with me,” he replies with a wink, and for the first time that morning she musters a small, tired smile. He can’t help but think that regardless of her current state, she’s still beautiful. 

The plane jostles back and forth beneath them as it roars to life. Emily clamps her hand over her lips, suppressing a wave of nausea, debating if she needs to make a dash for the bathroom.

“You alright?” 

“Debatable.” She takes another sip of water, slowly, then massages her temples with her fingers, a slight groan escaping from the back of her throat. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it through eight hours of this.” 

“Did you take anything?” 

“No,” she moans miserably. 

“I have some ibuprofen in my bag,” he offers, putting his book down, reaching for his carry-on under the chair. 

“That would be great, actually.” 

“Eat the pretzels first,” he suggests. “I take it you don’t have anything in your stomach.” 

Of course he’s right. The actual reason she’s so late is she spent over an hour curled around the toilet emptying every last bit of the contents of her stomach until she dry-heaved. With a roll of her eyes, she tears at the bag and pops one in her mouth, making a face. “These taste like sawdust.” 

“They’re stale pretzels. What were you expecting?” 

“I can tell you what I wasn’t expecting. I wasn’t expecting to be this hungover. I’m never drinking tequila again.” 

“Where have I heard that before?” he teases gently, and she glares at him. 

“I wasn’t even going to come. I hate these trips.” She eats another pretzel slowly, as if it’s a momentous task. “It was a very last minute decision.” 

“Why?”

“A bunch of political animals rubbing elbows and backstabbing one another under the guise of unity and Goodwill and whatever spiel they ramble? No _fucking_ thank you.” 

“What made you change your mind?” 

“I needed to get away.” There’s a hint of despair in her voice, just subtle enough to miss but he’s paying attention. She shrugs . “Plus, it’s been forever since I’ve been to Paris. Have you ever been?” 

He tosses the bottle in her direction. “I haven’t.” 

“It’s beautiful.” She pries at the lid, and taps two of the pills into her hand. “Probably my favorite place in the world.” 

“When were you there last?” 

Emily tilts her head to the side, an odd look ghosting over her face for a brief second. “About a year ago.” She covers herself with the sweater she’s wearing; she’s small enough that it serves as a blanket. “It’s been too long.” 

“You miss it?” 

“Every day.” 

She swallows the pills with a long sip of water, her stomach flipping once again as the plane starts taxiing along the runway. 

“So, where were you last night?” Aaron is fairly certain she won’t tell him her exact whereabouts but it’s worth a shot. 

“Were you looking for me?” 

“I noticed you were gone when I did my nighttime rounds. Good time?” 

Emily blinks. “It was fun.” It wasn’t but he doesn’t have to know that. She’d gotten too drunk at the club, argued with Allison in the parking lot, and walked home alone in the dark with her stilettos in her hands. It was similar to many other evenings prior, and many more to come. 

...

Emily is right - the pictures he’s seen of Paris hardly do it any justice. Despite his initial reluctance about the trip, it isn’t half bad. There are several events and obligations on the Ambassador’s agenda, of course, but their days are fairly broken up with a decent amount of downtime. In between their assignments, they have some time to explore, and even take a few guided tours that have been arranged for them in advance.

Emily disappears almost instantly the moment they arrive at the hotel after having slept the entire duration of the flight. Aaron only sees her sporadically for the first two days of the trip, when the Ambassador specifically requests her presence at the events, soirees, and dinners planned with various political figures from around the world.

Each time she appears seemingly out of thin air, he can’t help but notice just how much happier she seems. Her usual heightened guard is noticeably down, the typical frown she wears non-existent. One their second night she brings a friend to dinner - a blonde girl about her height. They’re clearly tipsy when they arrive, their arms linked at the elbow. From his post at the door, he watches them drink two bottles of Veuve Clicquot and giggle throughout the duration of the meal, their heads bent together conspiratorially. They disappear immediately after dessert. It’s only much later at 2 AM does he hear her outside his room through the thin walls of the hotel, stumbling back to her room laughing to herself. 

On day three, he’s waiting for the Ambassador’s team outside the limousine when she rides past him on a vespa, wearing a leather jacket and thankfully, a helmet. He’s tempted to flag her down and tell her to slow the hell down, but she’s gone before he can form a complete thought and he can only imagine where she might be heading.

On night five of their six night trip (she’s nowhere to be found on day four), he’s about to switch off the television for the night when he hears a soft knock at the door. He doesn’t have to open it to know it’s Emily.

She’s wearing a casual dress and sandals, less makeup than usual. Her hair is in loose waves, cascading down her back like a dark waterfall. She looks beautiful, almost ethereal in the dim hallway with just the moonlight reflecting through one of the windows.

“What are you doing here?” He checks his wrist before realizing he’s already taken his watch off, and quickly remembers he’s wearing his pajamas. “How did you know what room?” 

She laughs, and he shuts the door behind him to avoid waking the agent he’s sharing a room with. “I thought you might want to go sightseeing.” 

“Sightseeing? Do you have any idea what time it is?” 

“It’s 5:00 in the states,” she shrugs, the strap of her dress slipping off her shoulder. “You’d probably be awake by now anyway.” 

“It’s 11:00 here, and most people are either asleep or should be.” He reaches out before he can stop himself, adjusting the strap of her dress, and his fingers brush over the sharp angle of her collarbones.

“The night is young.” She switches her large bag to the other arm. He can hear the telltale clink of a bottle inside, and can just make out the label - it’s a bottle of red wine with a fancy French name he can’t even attempt to pronounce. 

“Where did you get that?” He begins, feeling exasperated at keeping up with her. She’s always two steps ahead of him.

“I bought it. Legally, too. Drinking age is 18, remember?” Emily rocks back on her heels impatiently, eyes glittering with anticipation. “So, are you coming?” 

He hesitates. A late night rendezvous with his boss’s daughter in a foreign country is probably not the greatest idea in theory. In practice, it sounds exhilarating. “I really shouldn’t. We have an early day tomorrow.” 

“Killjoy.” 

“Unlike you, some of us are actually working on this trip. I think we have something planned for tomorrow, anyway.” 

“I promise you, this will be a lot more fun than whatever tour my mother sends you on.” Emily reaches into her bag, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “I told her she should let me make the itinerary.” 

It’s his turn to laugh, and despite every voice in his head telling him no, he easily makes up his mind.

“On one condition.” 

She grins amusedly. “Tell me.” 

“You don’t smoke.” He leans against the door, arms crossed against his chest. 

Emily rolls her eyes and sighs loudly, dragging it out longer than necessary to prove her point. “Fine.” She holds out the cigarettes, and when he takes them from her, his hand lingers in hers just long enough for her breath to hitch in her throat. 

“Give me five minutes.” 

He’s ready in three and a half. When he emerges from the room, she gives him a once over before whistling appreciatively. “You don’t look half bad out of the suit.”

...

No one pays any attention as they quietly slip out of the hotel and into the night. Once they’re two blocks away, her fingers lace with his, their hands fitting perfectly together. She’s in a good mood; there’s a bounce in her step and a blissful look on her face.

Emily knows where they’re going, he quickly realizes as she leads the way through the streets of Paris. It’s surprisingly well-lit for being so late, Aaron observes, walking quickly to keep up with her long strides. 

She pauses when they come upon a vendor on a corner selling scarves. “Hold on a minute..” She stands on her tiptoes, her lips ghosting over his ear. “I’m cold.” She ducks down one of the long aisles of colorful fabric draped artfully in rows. “Forgot my jacket.” 

“Bonsoir,” the vendor greets them both, and Emily flashes a dazzling smile. It nearly makes Aaron’s knees go slack. He nods politely to the vendor as Emily strikes up an easy conversation. 

“Bonsoir, Monsieur.” (Good evening.) 

“Bonsoir, Mademoiselle. c'est une belle soirée, tu ne crois pas. (Good evening, miss. It’s a beautiful night, don’t you think?) 

"En effet. C'est combien?" (Indeed. How much?)

"Pour vous, à moitié prix. où vas-tu ce soir?” (For you, half price. Where are you headed tonight?)

“Emmener mon ami dans la ville.” (I’m showing my friend around the city.) 

“Amusez-vous bien. Bonne soirée à vous deux.” (Have fun. Good evening to you both.)

Emily brushes her hand against another row of scarves, swiping her slender fingers over the material, completely immersed in the task of selecting one.

“I didn’t know you spoke French,” He says quietly once the vendor is out of earshot. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Aaron.” 

Not for a lack of trying, that’s for damn sure. “I had no idea. When did you learn?”

“When I was five. Once I learned French I picked up others Pretty easily. Some took more time” She plucks a deep purple scarf from the rack and drapes it over her arm. 

“So how many languages do you actually know?” 

Emily pays for the scarf and they make their way back to the street. “Four fluently.” 

“Four?” 

She ticks them off on her fingers. “Arabic, Spanish, French, Italian. My Russian and Greek are pretty rusty but I get by.” 

“That’s impressive.” Six Languages?

She shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s always come easily to me. It comes in handy sometimes.” 

He reaches for her hand again; she takes it willingly. ““I have a hard enough time with English,” he quips. 

“I’ll help you sometime. Then you can teach me how to use that gun of yours.” Her eyes linger at the holster on his belt where his gun rests, semi-hidden. “You bring that thing everywhere?”

“We’re required to keep it with us when on duty.” 

“But you’re not on duty now.” 

“Being with you technically means I’m on duty.” And I could possibly lose my job for this little adventure. 

“So you would use it if you had to?” 

“If you were in danger, absolutely.” 

She nods thoughtfully, slowing her pace. “Good to know.” 

“You’d really want to learn?” He swallows, not daring to ask her true intentions. Not that she’d tell him. 

“It might be useful one day. You never know.” Despite the added scarf, she’s shivering. 

“I’ll teach you sometime,” he says softly, tightening his grip on her hand. “Still cold?”

“A bit.” 

There’s a definite chill in the air now. He slips his jacket off and drapes it over her shoulders. Even though she’s practically swimming in it, at least it’s something. 

She smiles gratefully and points to the left. “Turn here.” . 

“I thought we were sightseeing.” They’ve walked over a mile at least, if he had to guess, and it’s pushing close to midnight.

“We are.” She stops and points to a looming object in the distance. “Look.” 

The Eiffel Tower glitters beyond them, and for a moment he can only stare at the famous structure he’s only ever heard about and seen in movies. It doesn’t even begin to compare, he thinks. From her bag she produces a large blanket, and drapes it over her arm, and leads him to the lawn just beyond the tower’s entrance. 

“Is this even allowed?” 

“You’re such a rule follower,” Emily pulls him behind her, settling on a large, empty patch of grass. “No one’s ever stopped me before.” 

They settle on the blanket, and pass the bottle of wine back and forth. Whatever it is, it’s strong, and tastes expensive, much too expensive for his taste. To his surprise, she’s the opposite of her usual reticent self, and she tells him all about Paris, and some of her other travels around the world. 

He listens with wide eyed interest as she regales him with years of shenanigans, some borderline illegal (in foreign countries no less) her eyes sparkling as each memory rolls off her tongue, clearly a vivid picture in her mind. It’s a stark difference from her usual self. What’s made you so guarded, Emily? Who broke you? 

“One day I’ll be back.” She’s laying on the blanket, his jacket balled up underneath her head, one arm draped over her stomach. “Maybe for good.” She takes a swig from the bottle at her side. 

“For good?” 

“Yeah.” She sits up, drawing her legs to her chest. “It’s not like anyone would miss me anyway.” 

“And live here? What would you do?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe join the French police or something,” she tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Be a fancy French lawyer. Who knows.” 

“You’d be an excellent lawyer, you know.” 

“I’m not so sure about that.” Emily leans against his side, resting her head on his shoulder.

“You doubt yourself too much,” Aaron observes, bringing his arm to wrap around her. 

“And you flatter me.” 

“Promise me you’ll think about it.” 

“We’ll see. Law school is a whole different ball game. Not sure I’m cut out for that.” 

“You could do it.” His hand comes up to run through her long hair before he can stop himself, and another thought crosses his mind. Why not? “So. Tell me about Tom.” 

Emily’s eyes widen just enough to indicate her surprise, but she covers herself smoothly. “What about him?” Her voice wavers, despite every ounce of effort to control it. 

“What’s the story there?” 

“There isn’t one.” She sits up abruptly and digs through her bag before remembering he’d taken her cigarettes. Damnit. If there was ever time for a smoke, now would be the time.

“Are you sure about that?” 

“Some things aren’t worth a story.” He certainly isn’t. 

“Are you with him?” It’s a loaded question and they both know it, considering what’s happened between them the last few weeks. If he’s being honest, he hasn’t stopped thinking about it. 

“We’ve been together on and off since I’ve lived in DC. His father is a senator. You’ve probably heard about him in the news. I seem to recall a scandal with some very expensive call girls a couple months ago, if that rings a bell.” 

It’s the most information she’s given about him since Aaron met her.He scoffs, because it all makes sense once he makes the connection between father and son. “Sounds like a real winner.” 

“Like father like son, they say.” 

“Then why are you with him?” 

Emily sits up and slides back, putting several inches of space between them, twisting the rings on her fingers as she considers her answer. Her head tilts to the side ever so slightly. “Politics.” 

“That’s rich, coming from the one who self-proclaims to abhor politics.” 

“Now you know why I do.”

He has words, but he can’t bring himself to say any of them. He manages a forced nod, letting her continue. 

“It’s complicated.” She finishes the bottle off in one long sip. “It always has been. It always will be.” And I have no way out.

“Are you happy?” 

She lifts her head, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. It’s wildly different than the first few - it’s chaste and quick, with just a brief sigh of content before she pulls away, her hand lingering on his cheek.

“I am right now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 8 coming very soon!


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m already a mess." A mess that might never be put back together again. 
> 
> Aaron and Emily from the early days of him working for the Ambassador, and onward to present day. Chapter 8.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we get to the goods, I would be remiss if I didn’t give every single one of you a thank you for all of your comments, reviews, etc. The last few weeks have been insanely stressful for me on a professional level and working on this has given my mind such a welcomed escape from it all. So, thank you for being here. If you have any teachers in your life, give them a hug because we are trying our best under some incredibly challenging circumstances. 
> 
> This is the last chapter before things start to really spiral out of control for Emily.

**Chapter 8: Overnight** :  _ And I've always said I'd never let myself hold on this long _

“Babe, what’s wrong with you tonight?” Tom pants against her neck, his body an oppressive weight on hers. His hands are rough against her skin, he’s not even  _ looking  _ at her. He’s barely even kissed her at all. She doesn’t mind, though. It’s easier if he doesn’t. 

Even with Tom on top of her, she can’t help but think of  _ him _ \- his lips, his hands. His voice in her ear. The press of his body against hers, his scent flooding her senses when his jacket is draped around her. It’s played out in her mind like a movie since returning from Paris two days ago. 

“Babe?”

Emily ignores him, sliding her hand between her legs to take care of herself, because Tom is far too gone to even notice he’s doing everything all  _ wrong _ . It’s happened frequently enough that it won’t take her long if she can  _ just  _ hit the right spot. 

“Did you come yet?” Tom moves erratically, and before she can answer he spills into her with a sigh, his breath hot against her ear. He collapses against her, obliviously content and unaware.

“Nope,” Emily mutters as she pushes him off of her, immediately wrapping herself in the bedsheet and curling away from him to the very edge of the mattress.  _ Not like I ever do, anyway. _

Tom sprawls out beside her, clearly unaffected by her obvious disdain. She cringes when his fingers curl around her thigh. “Next time, babe. You’re too tense tonight.” He reaches for the weed on his dresser and holds it to his lips. “I don’t know what your deal is. I think you just need to chill out.” He passes the joint in her direction. “This’ll help.” 

She pushes his hand away. “Maybe if you weren’t so fucking stoned, you could actually get me off for a change.”

He scowls at her. “What’s your fucking problem? You should have just stayed in Paris if you’re going to be such a bitch.” 

Ignoring him, Emily rolls on her side, blinking back tears. “Maybe you’re right.” 

He’s asleep within minutes, snoring loudly into her ear. 

In the shower, she scrubs furiously at her skin, washing away any traces of the last hour, watching them swirl down the drain. Before she can stop herself, her hand is between her legs once more, easily building the pressure she’s been craving for days. It’s a familiar pattern; she knows her body well by this point, skillfully moving her fingers until her knees start to buckle and she has to support her weight against the shower wall. And when she finally brings herself over the edge, it’s  _ his  _ face she sees, and his name ghosts over her lips. 

**…**

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” 

“What?” Emily nearly drops the heavy bags she’s carrying as they wander into the next store, her feet starting to ache. What was supposed to be a quick trip for a party dress has turned into a half-day shopping ordeal. She desperately needs a cigarette, maybe something stronger if they don’t get out of here soon.

“Come on Em. I know you better than that,” Allison shoulders her own shopping bag, making a beeline for a large rack of dresses barely long enough to be considered clothing. “You’ve been quiet all morning. We’ve barely talked since you got home from Paris. You’re shutting me out. Like you always do when something is on your mind.” 

“That’s not true.”

“It’s  _ so _ true, and you know it.” Allison pulls a green dress from the rack, holding it up and then against herself, scrutinizing her reflection in the mirror. “So, what’s his name?” 

“His name?” 

“Emily... I know you better than you think. I know how you get when you’re hiding something, and I know you’re hiding something from me.”

“What makes you think it’s a guy?” Emily feigns interest in one of the dresses - a deep blue one, and her mind wanders to Aaron and what he might think of her in it. 

“Lucky guess. Plus, if I was dating your loser of a boyfriend, if you can even call him a boyfriend, I’d be perpetually searching for a new one.” 

Emily laughs, because despite her flaws and inability to tolerate large quantities of liquor, Allison is truly one of the most perceptive people she knows, and also a good friend. Maybe one of the only ones she has. “Got me there.”

“Ok, so who is it then?” 

“It’s really nothing,” Emily begins, not even sure where to start.  _ What do I even say? _ “At least … I don’t think it’s going to be anything. He’s … it’s complicated.” 

“I was  _ right,”  _ Allison claps her hands and gives Emily an expectant stare. “So, spill.” 

“It’s really nothing,” Emily says again, her tone unconvincing. 

“You are being  _ so  _ vague, Emily. Come on. Give it up.”

Emily sighs dramatically and rolls her eyes. “You cannot judge me, Allison.” 

Allison snickers. “I’m pretty sure we’re past that stage in our friendship, Emily. You have met me right? I have no room to judge anyone.” 

It’s Emily’s turn to smile. “Do you remember the night you got sick?” 

“Oh my God, please, don’t remind me.” Allison covers her face with embarrassment. “I still feel nauseous when I think about how much I drank that night.” 

“The guy that took you home - remember him?” 

“The security guy? Andrew?” 

“Aaron.” 

“What about him?” 

“He was in Paris.” 

It takes Allison a minute to make the connection but when she does, her eyes widen, suddenly intrigued. “Emily, did you -” 

“No, no - it wasn’t like that,” Emily says quickly. “But we’ve been … talking?”  _ Is that what you call it?  _

“Talking? About what?” There’s an air of disappointment in Allison’s voice. 

“Life, I guess.”

“That doesn't sound like you, Em.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“You don’t trust  _ anyone _ , Emily. I’ve known you for five years and some days you barely open up to me, yet here you are talking about  _ life” -  _ she uses air quotes, her voice lifting an octave, “with this random security agent you just met?”

“We didn’t  _ just _ meet,” Emily mumbles lamely. “It’s been a few weeks.”  _ Two at most _ .

“What do you do in between all of this … talking?” 

“I’m not sleeping with him, Allison, if that’s what you’re insinuating.” 

“That’s not what I’m  _ insinuating _ , Em, but come on. I know you better than that.” 

Emily stares at her shoes, tapping her toe against the ground. “We kissed the other week ….” She decides not to mention it’s been more than once, because once should have been enough but now she can’t seem to quit. She busies herself with another dress on a rack.

“Emily Elizabeth, stop right there.”

Emily cringes at the use of her middle name. “What?” She asks weakly, regretting her choice to come clean. 

“You’re kissing and frolicking around Paris with your mom’s security agents and you weren’t even going to tell me?” Allison feigns hurt. “This is the juicy stuff you tell your friends!.” 

“Just one security agent.” 

“Well isn’t that a relief.” Allison shakes her head. “What are you going to do...especially about … you know. The  _ other _ situation.” 

“I don’t know yet.” Emily sighs loudly and presses her fingers to her temples. Thinking about it gives her a headache.

“You should probably figure that out, before you get yourself into a big mess.” 

“I’m already a mess, Al.”  _ A mess that might never be put back together again.  _

“We all are, Em.” She links her slender arm in Emily’s. “And we need to get going, or else we’re never going to find something to wear to this damn party.” 

_ And suddenly, it feels so much more complicated than before.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 9!


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment she says it, she wishes she could take it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Surprise! Me again, with a much shorter, yet pivotal, chapter that will set a lot of things in motion for what's coming next. Things are going to get pretty angsty//dramatic after this, so buckle up, enjoy, and let me know what you think! 
> 
> TW for abuse/relationship violence. 

**Chapter 9: It Ends Tonight** :  _ Your subtleties, they strangle me. I can’t explain myself at all. And all I want and all I need’s all I don’t want to need at all.  _

She’s not drunk enough for this, but she’s not sober enough to leave. At least not yet. 

Tom is kissing her sloppily; he tastes like vodka and the marijuana he’s been smoking since she showed up hours ago. It’s heady and strong and it makes her dizzy. She’s had just enough to drink that everything is hazy; time is meaningless.  _ Should have eaten dinner _ , she chastises herself as the room starts to spin.  _ Probably should have eaten lunch too _ . “I feel sick,” she mumbles, attempting to push him off of her, the nausea starting to build. 

Oblivious to it all, Tom’s hands rip at her clothes, prying and pulling impatiently. He’s drunk too - a small blessing, because he’s in a  _ mood _ tonight and if he were a bit more sober, he would have already ruined her dress.

It’s the new one she bought earlier that day; she’d worn it with the intention of meeting up with Allison and her latest beau. Instead, he canceled their plans and smoked while she sipped from the handle of vodka on the bedside table until the room started to blur. 

By the time his hands start wandering up her skirt and between her thighs, she’s certain she won’t remember it in the morning. For that, she’s grateful. 

_ Close your eyes and think of a happier place.  _ It’s one of the so-called “coping strategies” she learned from the therapist she’d seen briefly upon returning home from Italy a few years ago. She only went to four sessions before she decided to never go back, because it seemed like a crock of shit at the time. 

She doesn’t even try to keep herself from thinking of Aaron -  _ his hands are persistent yet gentle, eyes reverent, and his movements precise. He’s deftly unzipping her pants; he doesn’t fumble with buttons and clasps. He’s over her and inside of her, his lips on her neck and on her skin and every bit of his touch makes her want to cry out. She arches into him and he slips an arm underneath of her, cradling her against him when he finally pushes inside of her.  _

“ _ Oh, Aaron _ .” 

Except it’s not Aaron’s lips on her neck. The moment she says it, she wishes she could take it back. The words hang in the air for a painful and sobering moment when he actually listens for once, recoiling from her as if he’d been burned.

_ Tom _ goes rigid, a lot more sober than she thought he was. “What did you say?” He’s dangerously close to her now, suddenly hyper-focused, hovering above her just enough that she feels immediately threatened. His eyes narrow into slits, face darkening with anger.

She feigns as much confusion as she can, mumbling and slurring her words. He’s not convinced. If anything, her attempted ignorance only makes him angrier. 

“ _ Answer me,”  _ Tom seethes. 

Emily twists underneath of him defiantly, but he holds her still. Even semi-stoned, Tom is  _ much _ stronger than her; she stands no chance against his weight against her. He’s pinning her wrists into the mattress hard enough to bruise. “Get off of me.” She’s tempted to kick him square in the balls, but his knee is pressed against her leg, rendering her nearly helpless. 

“Are you fucking him?” 

Her heart starts to pound; she turns her head away from him, unable to look him in the face. “No,” she says, hating how small and scared she sounds. “I’m not.” 

You are, you dumb bitch,” He shakes her too easily, pulling her up and off the bed like she weighs nothing. In her current state, Emily isn’t coordinated enough to stop him. Her movements are choppy, her reaction time too slow. “Slut,” he practically spits, grabbing her by the wrists once more, pushing her back towards the wall.

“I’m not,” she attempts again, panicked, and Tom laughs at the fear in her eyes. 

The rage in his eyes is terrifying, an intensity she’s never seen before. Before she can process what’s about to happen, he rears back and a blinding pain sears through her head not once but twice, and a cracking sound splinters down her face. Her body flies back and she hits the wall headfirst. 

Emily’s eyes flutter shut, everything goes fuzzy, and the last thing she hears before the world goes dark is the slam of the door

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 10!


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Emily,” Aaron begins gently. “I’m not going to hurt you, you know that right?” 
> 
> “I know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: A huge thank you to all of you for reading, commenting, etc. I LOVE hearing what you’re thinking about each chapter. I wanted to get this up sooner but I moved over the weekend, and things have been nonstop ever since. Like … eat chips for dinner while sitting on the floor assembling furniture after working a ten hour day kind of glamorous. As a heads up, this is a heavy chapter, and trigger warnings definitely apply for abuse, references to past abuse/and some lightly implied sexual assault - but nothing graphic. Things will continue to get pretty angsty for a while even after this one. As always, enjoy, and let me know your thoughts!

**Chapter 10: Just Tonight** :  _ Just tonight, I won’t leave. And I’ll lie and you’ll bleed. Just tonight I will see it’s all because of me. _

It’s late enough to be early when she stealthily slips past the night security guards, one after the other, tip-toeing down the long maze of hallways she knows like the back of her hand. Her face is tucked into the hood of her jacket, dark hair spilling down the side. She’s snuck in enough times before that they won’t even hear her as long as she’s perfectly quiet. 

No one can see her like this. If she’s quick, no one will, and it’ll be like nothing ever happened at all.  _ If she’s lucky.  _

Emily rounds the corner of the East wing, up the stairs, heels clicking softly against the marble floors as she hurries down the hallway to her room. She’s almost to the door when his voice stops her in her tracks. 

“A little late, don’t you think?” 

She freezes in place, back stiffening. He’s behind her; she can sense him coming closer, and she takes two steps forward to put some distance between them.  _ He _ cannot see her like this.  _ Why _ is he still here? He should be long gone by now. 

“What are you, my chaperone?” He’s just a little too close now; she’s tempted to keep walking the few feet to her bedroom and slam the door in his face.

“Just doing my job.” 

“Wasn’t your job over like …” she glances nervously at the large clock on the wall, keeping herself hidden. It’s close to 1. “Two hours ago?” She pulls her jacket down over her head even lower, staring at her feet, praying that he can’t see her face. If he would only just go away.

“Covering for one of the nighttime guys. Wife just had a baby.” Aaron immediately senses something is  _ really, really  _ wrong and slowly comes up from behind her, moving cautiously. “You okay?” 

Emily nods. She knows exactly which agent he’s referring to. “Yeah. I just want to go to bed. Long night.” His eyes bore into her, taking in her short dress, leather jacket, sky-high heels. “We can talk tomorrow.”  _ We won’t, but I’ll let you think we will if it means you leave me alone.  _

“What’s wrong?” 

“I told you,” she can’t hide the tremor in her voice. “Nothing.” 

“I don’t believe you,” he says almost too patiently, yet there’s no mistaking the gravity in his voice.

“That’s your issue, then,” Emily retorts, eyes on her shoes.

“Look at me, Emily.” It’s not a request, it’s a command, because he knows she’s hiding something. And if his gut is correct, which it usually is, whatever she’s hiding is protecting someone else. 

She blanches ever so slightly yet he notices immediately, moving slowly until he’s right in front of her. Only then does he notice she’s trembling.

“Look at me,” he repeats, his tone low and soft yet leaving no room for argument. “Now.” 

With a resigned sigh, shoulders sagging in defeat, Emily pulls her hair away from the confines of her jacket. Fingers shaking, she brings the hood down around her shoulders, lifting her face to him as he comes to stand in front of her. His stomach lurches; he’s instantly nauseated, because it’s  _ worse _ than he ever imagined.

_My God._ Her face is pale, a canvas of smeared dark makeup- it’s clear she’s been crying, judging by her bloodshot eyes, but that’s not what makes his blood start to boil. Her bottom lip is split nearly in half. Dried blood covers the crack that runs through the entirety of her lip. Her left eye is hugely swollen, purple and shiny, the skin under it already starting form a large, angry welt of various shades of blue, black, and red. A cut across her cheek is dripping blood down her chin and onto her dress. Her nose is bleeding too, swollen, and at closer glance, it’s very possibly broken. Both of her wrists are dotted with bruises - _fingerprints_ , he realizes, swallowing hard.

“What the hell _? _ ” He growls, his face darkening with anger, taking a step toward her to get a closer look. Her eyes flashing with fear, Emily backs away, wobbling on unsteady legs. Aaron instinctively reaches out to keep her from falling backward, catching her around her waist in the nick of time. 

He supports nearly all of her weight as she steadies herself, only to have her legs nearly buckle underneath her again once more. “How long ago did this happen?” He nearly hauls her back to her feet, holding her until she’s upright once again. “How did you get home?” 

“ _ SHHH,”  _ she hushes him with desperation in her voice as she squirms out of his arms, pulling nervously at her clothes and looking around to see if anyone else is in earshot.“ _ Shut up!”  _

“What the fuck did he do to you?” For the second time, he wonders if he needs to take her to the hospital. 

“Jesus Christ, Someone’s going to hear you.” 

“I don’t give a shit,” he says angrily before he can stop himself, inwardly cursing her stubbornness and pride. “Look at you!”

“ _ I do _ ,” she hisses right back. “No one can see me like this.” 

He glances around; luckily the coast is clear for the time being. “Come on.” Aaron steers her to her bedroom, holding the door open as she brushes past him. 

Emily locks the door and leans against the wall, drawing ragged breaths into her lungs . She drops her bag to the floor, kicking it across the room. The bottle of wine inside shatters somewhere along the way, and it spills across the marble floors, but she can’t bring herself to care. “God damnit,” she covers her mouth with her hand and screams against her own palm. This  _ wasn’t  _ how tonight was supposed to go.

Aaron already has the first aid kit in one hand, several towels draped over his arm, his jaw set in a firm, determined line. The look in his eyes is one she’s never seen; it’s enough to give her the chills.  _ He looks like he could kill someone,  _ Emily thinks from her position by the door. 

He drags a chair from the corner into her conjoined bathroom; flips the light on. “Come sit down. I need to take a look at you.” 

“Absolutely not.” Tears prick like needles behind her eyes again, but refuses to let herself cry in front of him.  _ Absolutely not, Emily. _ “You can go now. I got it from here.” 

“Like hell you do.” Aaron shrugs out of his suit jacket, tosses it on her bed, then rolls up the sleeves of his stark white shirt to his elbows. “Sit down.” 

“Just go, please.” she tries again, reaching up to touch her face, cringing at the sight of her blood-stained fingers. “It’s not as bad as it seems. I can take care of it.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Not as bad as it seems? Have you looked in the mirror?”

She ignores him, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance. 

“We could always go to the hospital if you’d prefer that.” 

“Not a chance.” Emily kicks the marble floor with the toe of her shoe. “I told you, I don’t do hospitals.”

“I will carry you out of here if I need to.”

“I know how to make a scene, Aaron,” she says, her voice sickeningly sweet. “All of security will be in here before you can blink. You’ll have some serious explaining to do, especially when I look like this.” 

Aaron sighs in frustration. She’s right. Forcing her to go to the hospital would only raise too many questions with the Ambassador’s security staff, especially if they left the premises at this hour. It would also break every ounce of her trust he’s worked so hard to earn. “Please just let me help you, Emily.” 

“No,” she says, her voice starting to break. “I don’t need or want your help.” 

_ She’s embarrassed,  _ he realizes. Her eyes dart between him and the doors as if calculating her exit, yet they both know there’s no way she can outrun him, especially now. She looks trapped, caged even, and given her current state, it makes his stomach churn. Aaron softens his tone; holds up his hands. “Fine. I promise. No hospitals, and this stays between us.”

“You won’t tell anyone?” 

“You have my word.” 

Emily nods, her expression unreadable. “Good. Now please, just go. And lock the door on your way out.” 

“Not so fast. By not going to the hospital, you’re agreeing to let me check you over instead.” 

She stares him down, the anger in her face fading because now she’s just exhausted from arguing and the effort it takes to think makes her head throb. She blinks, already feeling the swelling beginning to set in her face. “You don’t have to do this. I can handle this on my own.” 

“I gave you my terms,” he says simply. 

_ Damn him.  _

She stares at her feet, hugging herself, taking a deep breath before lifting her gaze to him. She nods, albeit slowly, a concession of some sort. “Okay,” she grumbles reluctantly. “Fine.” 

“Sit.” 

Slipping off her shoes and stepping into the bathroom, she sits stiffly in the chair. Emily wraps her arms around herself and watches Aaron’s every move warily, visibly uncomfortable at how close he’s standing to her. “How long is this going to take?” 

“I don’t know,” he says softly, wetting a towel under the faucet, trying not to let on just how terrible her face actually looks. “How long ago did this happen?” 

“Maybe an hour ago?” She’s practically wrapped in a ball at this point, her legs against her chest defensively, rocking back and forth. “I lost track of time...I don’t remember.” She shudders involuntarily when he steps closer to her. 

“Emily,” Aaron begins gently, searching her eyes yet finding nothing but apprehension and a touch of shame. “I’m not going to hurt you, you know that right?” 

“I know.” 

The lack of emotion in her tone nearly rips him in half.

“I need you to sit up straight,” he says gently. 

She nods, slowly uncurling her legs and straightening her back in the chair. She flinches the moment he touches her, the sharp intake of breath a warning sign he’s too close. 

“Emily?” Aaron immediately backs away again, and Emily lowers her head as the heat rises to her cheeks. “Are you alright? Do you want me to stop?” 

“I’m … I’m fine. I want to get this over with.” She twists the hem of her dress in her fingers, unable to look at him. He’s being so attentive and caring and all she wants is to scream, again. “I’m sorry.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for. Can I get you anything?”  _ He sounds desperate, almost pleading, _ and she regrets agreeing to this in the first place.  _ This isn’t his responsibility. He shouldn’t have to do this.  _

“A blanket,” she whispers into her lap. “I’m so cold.” 

He retrieves two and on afterthought, fills a glass of water. She manages a thin smile as he drapes the blankets over her lap and sets the water beside her. “Better?” 

“Thanks.” 

Aaron’s stare lingers on the bruise on her right knee, then the larger one on her left knee. His eyes darken; the image going through his mind is one he won’t soon forget.

“What?”  _ She sounds so exhausted;  _ he thinks, and curses himself for even bringing it up, for potentially taking it this far.

“Emily,” he begins, waiting for an answer that he isn’t prepared for, eyes still glued to her knees. “Did he … -” 

She meets his probing stare boldly, surprising him and even herself. She understands the meaning of his words; she shakes her head with a resounding no. “It wasn’t like that.”  _ At least not tonight.  _

He nods stiffly, grateful for that small favor as she quickly unfurls the blankets. 

Aaron swallows hard when he gets an even closer look at her. Her face is a mess, but if he can at least get her cleaned up a bit, it might help a little.  _ I’ll tear that bastard apart,  _ he thinks with a deep breath. It’s taking almost everything he has to hide his anger in an effort not to scare her. Despite the blankets, she hasn’t stopped shaking. 

He pretends not to see the tears beading in the corner of her eye as he smooths her hair away from the mess of torn skin, blood, and bruises. “Why does he do this?” Some questions have no answers. It hangs in the air between them. He brushes her cheek, careful to avoid hitting any tender areas before gently touching the swollen skin around her eye and then into the bruise, feeling for any fractures or displacement. “Tip your head back just a little.” 

“I don’t know. I like to think at least he’s not doing it to anyone else.” Emily winces at his touch. “Ouch!” 

“Sorry.” He pulls back for a second, a twinge of guilt coursing through him at the thought of causing her anymore pain. “Your eye socket isn’t broken,” he says smoothly, sounding calmer than he feels. “That’s good news.” 

She says nothing; she gives him a blank stare.

“It’ll be sore for awhile, but luckily, no break.” It’s still horribly bruised, but at least it’s something. “The black eye will be pretty bad for awhile, though.” 

“Okay.” Her voice is devoid of emotion; it’s as if she doesn’t even hear him. 

“I told you to call me when he threatened you again.”

She catches his usage of the word  _ when _ and feels numb. “I didn’t have a phone.” 

“How did you get home?” 

“I walked.” 

He can’t hide his own shock and cringes when he thinks of all that  _ could _ happen if she’s walking home alone at night. “You walked? Like this?!” 

“It’s my face that’s fucked, Aaron. My legs still work just fine.” 

“In those shoes?”

He’s right. They’re some of the least walkable ones she owns - all straps and sharp heels and an arch that is in no way comfortable or even somewhat practical. They used to be her favorites - now, she can’t even think about wearing them again. 

“It’s not rocket science. One foot in front of the other.” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t break an ankle too.” 

“I’ve had a lot of practice.” 

Aaron shakes his head ruefully at the thought of her walking alone at night and continues his task. “How did this happen?” He presses his fingers against her nose and she whimpers in pain. 

“A fist.” She can still hear the crack of his knuckles against her bone when she closes her eyes. Thinking about it makes her nauseous.

“Definitely broken. Any trouble breathing through it?” 

“No.” 

“You’re going to need to ice it for the next few days, but broken noses will typically heal on their own, if you’re careful.” 

“I’ve always wanted a nose job. Maybe this will do the trick.” She attempts a joke, laughing acidly as pain shoots through her face. 

“I don’t think it works that way.” Aaron shakes his head, turning his attention to the lacerations on her cheek and her lip. “And these?” 

“I don’t remember,” she mumbles, averting her eyes. He cups her face in his hand, gently wiping the dried blood away..  _ Except she does remember - she remembers it all _ , in vivid, perfect detail. 

“They’re superficial cuts, so I don’t think you don’t need stitches. Consider yourself lucky because that’s out of my skill set.” 

“Maybe you should learn,” Emily snaps. “Probably will come in handy next time.” 

He pauses, her chin still in his hand, holding her gaze firmly. “There’s no next time, Emily. This stops now.” 

A sad smile spreads over her lips, a resignation if anything. “If only it were that simple.” 

He sighs, and a heavy silence falls over them as he cleans the remaining traces of blood from her face. It looks _slightly_ better now, despite her rapidly swelling eye and busted lip. **“** I want to clean these out just to be safe.” 

“Do what you need to.” Her voice is suddenly flat again, emotionless. She’s been quiet and completely still for the last five minutes, her hands wringing in her lap. “I don’t care.” 

Despite his exceeding tenderness, it stings like hell, and she grits her teeth and curses under her breath as he works, shifting in the chair. “Are you done yet? That burns like a bitch.” She emits a muffled cry, and he swallows hard. 

“I know, I’m sorry,” he says, his tone apologetic yet determined, eyes focused on the task at hand “Almost done.”

“Thank God.” 

“ You still need some ice for those bruises.” 

She doesn’t respond, her eyes are blankly staring out the window as he finally finishes cleaning her up, gently wiping the residual traces of dark eye makeup away with a cotton pad. Her paleness is a stark contrast to her dark bruises on her face. In the dim light, she almost resembles a ghost.

“Emily?” 

“Hmm?” 

“If I go get you some ice, will you still be here when I get back?” 

“Not really many places I can go looking like this, Aaron.” 

“I’ll be back in a minute.” 

…

He breathes a tiny sigh of relief that she’s still there when he returns. But she hasn’t moved, it doesn’t even look like she’s taken a breath since he left. 

“Hold this on.” It’s an ice pack from the kitchen - temporary, but it’ll do the job for now. This time she doesn’t recoil when he gets close to her. The discomfort in her eyes is gone; now she just looks completely defeated. He works in silence, dressing the laceration on her cheek and dabbing at her lip with some vaseline. 

“Will it scar?” Her voice is nearly inaudible. It’s the first thing she’s said in almost ten minutes; the first time her eyes have moved from the window. 

“It might.”

“Fuck,” Emily mutters. “Just what I need. A big scar on my fucking face.” 

“Keep the ice on. You want the swelling to go down.” He takes her hand in his and holds it up to her cheek. “Like this.” He keeps his hand on hers for several seconds. 

Emily blinks twice, her hand still underneath of his. “Like this,” she repeats, her eyes staying locked on his. She searches his eyes for something - she isn’t sure what -but something, before she can’t anymore, because whatever he isn’t saying out loud is starting to scare her. “God, my head hurts.” She uses her free hand to massage the back of her head.

Aaron pulls away quickly, looking regretful for a brief moment before he’s all business once again at her sudden admission. “Did you hit your head at all?” 

“I don’t remember.” 

“Emily,” 

“Don’t  _ Emily _ me,” she snaps back. “I’m not a  _ fucking _ child, Aaron.” 

“If you hit your head, you could have a concussion, which means we have a bigger problem that definitely requires a hospital. So I’ll ask you again. Did you hit your head?” 

Emily bites her swollen lip, eyes narrowing. “Just once.” She turns away in embarrassment. “Not that hard, though.” 

“Are you nauseous? Any blurred vision?” He cups his hand around her head and looks into her eyes, checking her pupils. “Any headache or dizziness?” 

  
“Not really.” 

“Did you lose consciousness?” 

“No.” She lies almost too easily at this point. It doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t be the first concussion she’s ever had. She’s had several over the years; she’s always been fine. 

“Good. That’s all good news. Means you most likely don’t have a concussion.” If he doesn’t believe her he doesn’t show it, and for a moment, he looks relieved. For a lingering moment, she wishes she had the courage to tell him the truth. 

“I didn’t think so.”

“You’re going to want to take it easy anyway, just in case.” He looks into her eyes once more. “If you have any blurred vision, dizziness, headache, any nausea or vomiting, call me. Day or night.” 

“”I’ll take it easy, I promise.” She deliberately ignores his other request with a wave of her hand. “I can take it from here. I’ll be good as new tomorrow.”  _ Another lie, but at this point, what’s one more? _

“Are you going to keep covering for him?” 

“I’m not fucking covering for him.” She rises to her feet and throws the blankets onto the chair, stalking out of the bathroom, completely avoiding the spilled wine all over the floor. It takes a concentrated effort to avoid revealing the shakiness of her legs.

“Sounds like it.” 

“You wouldn’t even begin to understand.” 

“Try me.” He’s exasperated and frustrated and part of him wants to shake her for being so cavalier. The other part of him wants to find Tom and tear him apart limb by limb. “I’m all ears.” 

“I did what you asked, didn’t I? I agreed to your terms. You got your way.” Emily hides a yawn in her fist, and even that simple act sends needles of pain shooting through her face. She’s drained and utterly exhausted, most likely ridiculously dehydrated. “God, I’m so tired. I just want to sleep.” 

Aaron sighs heavily, knowing the conversation is over at this point. “Why don’t you go lay down. I got this.” He gestures to the heap of bloodied towels, tissues, bandage wraps, and abandoned first aid supplies on the counter. She opens her mouth to object, but he cuts her off quickly. “You need to get some rest. I’ll clean up and leave.” 

Emily touches her fingers to her cheek and nose once again and blinks back a few tears. Aaron has already busied himself with the mess in the bathroom, his jaw set, his eyes dark. 

She doesn’t even bother to change her clothes before sliding into bed. She doesn’t care that her stark white duvet cover and pillows will most likely be stained with blood by the morning. With her back to him and her face to the wall, she settles into the pillows and closes her eyes. In her current state, it’s a struggle to get comfortable, and each position she attempts only causes her more pain. 

“Emily?” His voice breaks the silence after several minutes, or maybe an hour. She can’t tell. 

“Yeah?” 

“Bathroom is cleaned up. I took care of the wine on the floor. I’m leaving. There’s water and ibuprofen on the nightstand. If you need anything, call me. Day or night.” 

She can’t help the small smile that pulls at the corner of her lips, because she knows he’s true to his word. He would come the instant she called.  _ Not that she will.  _

“Aaron?” 

His feet stop; he sighs heavily. “Yes?” 

“Thank you.”

“Get some sleep, Emily.” 

She bites back a sob, and once she’s alone, the tears start to fall. 

It’s close to 5 when she finally succumbs to sleep, the pillow beneath her cheek soaked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 11 coming soon!


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s almost too easy to track him down. In fact, he’s exactly where Aaron expected to find him at 2:30 AM.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for violence and references to abuse apply in this chapter. Enjoy!

**A/N** : TW for violence and references to abuse apply in this chapter. Enjoy!

**Chapter 11: Easy Tonight** _ \-  _ _ You were wrong, you were right. And you are gone, tonight. You were free, so alive. You were wrong, you were right And you were down, you could see. And you wore hearts, for me. _

It’s almost too easy to track him down. In fact, he’s exactly where Aaron expected to find him at 2:30 AM. 

He went straight from the Ambassador's house, only taking a brief few moments to change his clothes before finding the address and getting into his car. It’s late enough that the streets are empty; there’s hardly any traffic, and he parks a few blocks down and over. 

He spots Tom immediately across the poorly-lit bar, where he’s shooting pool with another guy about his age - someone Aaron doesn’t recognize.  _ They’re laughing, _ Aaron notices, his hands curling into fists in his pockets.  _ Son of a bitch _ . He ignores the scantily-clad hostess waving a drink menu in his face and stalks over to the pool table through clouds of hazy smoke. Y _ ou fucking piece of trash.  _

“I don’t have a problem with you, man.” Tom takes a few steps back as soon as he spies Aaron, looking down his nose with disinterest. “Just mind your own damn business and stay the fuck away from my girlfriend.” 

“I have a problem with you.” Aaron paces toward him, his steps heavy, determined. The anger he’d felt a few hours ago comes surging back.  _ Not that it ever really left _ . He’s tempted to grab him right then and there and take him down. “With the way you treat your -” he nearly chokes on the last word. “Girlfriend.” 

“The fuck are you talking about, dude?” Through his cocky smirk, Tom throws a nervous, yet subtle glance at the guy on the other side of the pool table, his expression telling Aaron everything he needs to know.  _ Fucking liar. You know exactly what you did. _

“I  _ know _ what you did to her. What you’ve  _ done _ to her.” Aaron steps closer, grabbing the collar of his button down shirt. “ _ How fucking dare you.”  _

Tom flinches at the contact, attempts to push Aaron away, holding his hands up defensively .“What the fuck man? I got angry, alright? It was an accident - I -” 

“Breaking her nose was an accident? The black eye was an accident? Try again.” He backs Tom into the corner, knocking the bottle out of his hand, sending it shattering to the floor as beer sprays over their shoes. “Why don’t you hit me, you punk?” Grabbing him by the shirt again, Aaron tackles Tom to the pool table, towering over him menacingly. 

“I lost my temper, man, come on it happens -” 

Aaron’s fist connects squarely with Tom’s nose before he even realizes what’s happening, and once more, this time with more weight behind it. There’s a crunch under his knuckles, and the warm drip of blood stains his hand. “Lose your temper with me.” He swings and hits once more, the force tearing a layer of skin from his knuckles this time. “See what happens.” 

“She -” 

“I don’t give a shit what she did. You beat women when they piss you off? You son of a bitch.” Aaron swings once more, his fist colliding with Tom’s rapidly bruising face again. Grabbing him by the collar, he throws him to the pool table with ease and gives him a good shake.  _ Just like how you threw her against the wall.  _ “Better start swinging back. Your fucking father can’t save you from this one.”

Aaron throws one more punch, this time it’s right into the side of Tom’s face. Even in his state he sneers back, groaning and swiping at his face with his sleeve.

“My father will destroy you, just wait. She fucking deserved it. I can ruin her life too.” His voice is muffled, garbled almost, and it’s clear his jaw is broken, or close to it. “What’s your deal with her anyway?” He spits, losing a tooth in the process. “You’re fucking her aren’t you? You’re fuck-” 

Another punch, this time something else cracks under his fist and now his own hand is bleeding too. Aaron pulls back, his good still wrapped tightly around Tom’s shirt. “If I were you,” he hisses, “I would stay away from her. Far. Away.” 

“Just wait. I know who you are. Your career -” Tom spits blood from his mouth - “is over. I’ll make sure you’re  _ fucking buried. _ You’ll never work in this city again. Or anywhere.” 

This time, Aaron’s fist lands inches from Tom’s head right next to the pool table. He visibly recoils, his eyes meeting Aaron’s, and for the first time he sees fear. “You aren’t getting away with this again.” His voice is deadly, low and soft. “I saw what you did. You’re a coward.” 

“She’s a fucking whore-” 

He lifts his fist once more, and Tom holds up his hands in surrender.

“Alright alright. I’m fucking sorry, alright? I swear to God I won’t go near Emily again,” he pleads, his voice laced with pain, failing to control his bleeding nose, only making more of a mess. “We’re through. I won’t talk to her again. I promise. I’ll apologize … I’ll … I'll do something. I don’t know.” 

“Stay away from her.” Aaron gives him another shake for good measure, tempted to spit right in his face. His eyes narrow darkly before he releases Tom, who falls against the pool table in a heap with a grunt of pain. “If you touch her again, I’ll kill you.” 

He stalks out of the bar, ignoring the shocked stares of the rest of the bar patrons, moving right past the hostess who already has a phone in her hand. He could care less. He’d resign tomorrow if it came to that. 

Once home, he dresses and wraps his bleeding hand before pouring a glass of whiskey filled to the rim. He sips it on the couch in the silence, staring absently at the wall until his eyes blur. 

_ He doesn’t get much sleep that night, and somehow he has a feeling she doesn’t either. _

…

The sun is shining through the windows when she’s aware of the  _ banging _ . Rolling over, Emily groans as she realizes it’s not just her head that’s pounding, but someone is at her door. It’s also close to 11 AM.  _ Fuck. She wasn’t supposed to sleep this late.  _

Before she has a moment to pull herself together even briefly, the door swings open. __

“What the FUCK happened to you guys last night? I must have called you at least twenty times, Emily!” Allison bursts into her bedroom in a flurry of red hair, dark circles under her eyes with traces of last night’s makeup remaining and a paper cup of coffee in her hand. “You guys didn’t even make it out and we waited for you for hours.” 

_ How did she get past security?  _

The commotion makes Emily’s head want to burst, and she makes a mental note to remind the weekend security to inform her of visitors before sending them up.  _ All _ visitors.

“I thought we had plans to go to that new club, Emily. We even went shopping for new dresses. I can’t believe you bailed!” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Emily rolls onto her side gingerly, turning to face her friend. She regrets answering the phone in the first place. “Who let you in here?” 

“One of the guys downstairs. The weekend crew is a lot more lax than the -” Her eyes go wide at the sight of Emily’s face, her features a mix of disbelief and shock. “OH MY GOD, EMILY! What happened? What the fuck?!”

“I can explain,” Emily attempts weakly, but Allison lifts a hand and effectively cuts her off. 

“Em, I was so fucking worried about you. You fucking disappeared off the face of the earth and I had no idea where you were. You could have been killed. What the  _ fuck?  _ Did you get mugged or something?” 

Emily laughs bitterly. “No, Allison. I didn’t get mugged.” 

“Then … what … “ Allison trails off, suddenly understanding all too well. “Emily, my God. This has  _ got _ to stop. Have you looked in the mirror? He could have  _ killed _ you.” 

“It wouldn’t go that far.” 

“Clearly it could have! Look at you! You’re a fucking mess!” Her friend’s face is full of concern. “I need a cigarette.” Allison reaches into her bag, fishing for her lighter. “You should have said something on the phone. When will you stop keeping secrets from me?” 

“Open the damn window if you’re going to smoke,” Emily coughs loudly, reaching for the water bottle Aaron left on her nightstand hours before. It’s warm, but it’s better than nothing. She notices the ibuprofen is gone.  _ When did I even take those?  _

Soon her room smells like an ashtray, and Allison paces the floor with the cigarette firmly wielded in her fingertips. “Emily, come on. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened. We both know it. It’s getting  _ worse _ .”

With a frustrated sigh Emily pulls herself out of bed, padding over to the mirror.  _ Yikes _ . She’s still in the same clothes from the night before, her dress wrinkled and misshapen. In the light, she can see the blood staining down the front. Her face  _ is _ a mess - Allison is right. The swelling is even worse than last night, the bruises are a deeper shade of purple. She touches the bandage with tentative fingertips. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” she chokes, unable to look Allison in the face. 

“Bullshit.” Allison takes a long drag on her cigarette. “You’ve said that before.” 

“He said the same thing.” Emily murmurs without thinking, and instantly regrets it because Allison’s expression is one of instant recognition. She reaches for the closest shirt on the chair, quickly pulling off her dress and abandoning it on the floor, throwing the t-shirt over her head.

“He?” 

“Nevermind.” Emily turns away from the mirror, her mind racing. Her eyes settle on the dark object tangled in her duvet cover, and before she can attempt to hide the evidence, Allison has beaten her to it. 

“Em, what is this?” She dangles Aaron’s suit jacket, obviously forgotten, in her hand. “Whose jacket is this?” 

“Al,” Emily croaks, desperately in need of some more ibuprofen or a cigarette or a fucking drink -  _ something _ to take the edge off the pounding headache creeping in her temples. Maybe a combination of all three. “Just stop talking.” 

“Does this belong to Aaron? What was he doing here?” 

“He - uh - I ran into him last night. When I got back,” Emily sinks onto the floor, stretching her bare legs out in front of her, staring at the bruises on her knees.

“He was here? Last night?”

“He’s the one who did this.” Emily points to the bandaid on her cheek. 

“You didn’t go to a hospital?” 

“You know how I feel about hospitals.” 

“He didn’t make you go? I find that surprising.” 

“I told him I’d raise a scene.” 

“Of course you did.” Allison takes another drag on the cigarette before continuing slowly. “But … what if you have another concussion, Em? Didn’t you need stitches?” 

“Aaron didn’t seem to think so.” Emily closes her eyes, picturing his concerned face, how careful he’d been with her, his determination to cause the least amount of pain as he’d taken care of each of her injuries one by one. 

“Does he know who did it?”

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out, clearly.” Emily picks at her ragged fingernails. “He was furious,” she adds, hating how small her voice sounds. “I’ve never seen him so angry.” Pushing herself off the floor, Emily ignores the stiffness in her legs and sinks back into bed, wishing she could disappear in the fluffy duvet cover. 

As if on cue, Allison settles beside her as only a best friend can, plumping one of the many pillows behind her head. “Emily, is something else going on with him?”

“Your timing sucks, Allison. You know that right? You just have to bring that up now?” 

“It’s a valid question, Em. We talked about this. 

“Nothing else is going on. I promise.” She sighs audibly, dramatically. “After last night, I can’t imagine he’d even entertain the option.”  _ Why would anyone ever want to?  _

“Oh come on. Not to make light of this situation, but you and I both know he’s your type.” 

“What’s my type?” Emily quips.

“Tall, dark, handsome, broody. Usually problematic.” 

“So now Aaron is problematic too?” 

“The fact that he’s at least five years older than you? Maybe the fact that he works for  _ your mother?”  _

“You have a point there.” 

“Not that rules have ever stopped you before. I could see it, honestly.” 

“See what?” 

“You are so obtuse sometimes, Emily.” She laughs. “I could see  _ something _ between the two of you.” 

“Right, cause I’m such a tempting catch now, looking like this.” 

Allison smirks, but it quickly melts right off her face when another thought crosses her mind. “What about Tom?” 

“What about him?” 

“I’m not stupid, Emily. You know that. I’ve known Tom longer than I’ve known you. He’s a fucking abusive piece of shit. He’s always been a piece of shit. I  _ told you that _ the night you met him, but you  _ insisted _ . You should have dumped him a long time ago.” 

“True.” 

“ _ Why _ do you stay with him?”

Emily tosses one of the many pillows to the floor. “We’ve been over this before, Al.”

“I know, I know.” She rolls her eyes, because it’s a conversation they’ve had many times at varying levels of sobriety. “I get that it’s complicated. But … Emily … is this even worth it anymore? It’s … getting worse. Do you really want to keep putting up with this? How bad does he  _ actually  _ have to get One day he’s going to go too far.” 

“My mother is up for reappointment soon.” She takes a deep breath.. “I can’t risk it. After what happened in … you know … I … I can’t keep disappointing her. I’ve already done that enough.” 

Allison shakes her head. “Have you ever considered talking to your mom about all of this? Maybe about everything else too?” 

Emily snorts. “You know her better than that. She pretends like it never even happened.” 

Allison nods. “Right, but maybe it’s time to look beyond all of that. Maybe if she knew the truth … “ 

“We’ll see.” 

“As for Aaron _ ,  _ maybe don’t get involved in yet _ another _ complicated mess of a relationship before you figure out the other one. We  _ talked _ about this the other day.” 

Emily manages a laugh, and it makes her face burn with pain. “You sound ridiculous.” 

“Just be careful, Emily.” Allison stubs out her cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand and instantly lights another. “I don’t want you to get hurt. Again.” 

They sit in silence for several moments, lost in their own respective thoughts. 

Reaching for the remote on the nightstand, Allison flicks the television on, eyes lighting up at what’s on the screen. “Look. Breakfast at Tiffany’s is starting.” 

“We’ve seen it a million times,” Emily grumbles. 

“And it’s always been your favorite. We can watch for a little bit and get some food? I’m starving.” 

She’s too tired to argue. “Only if it’s delivery. I’m not going anywhere like this.” 

“Deal.” 

As the familiar hum of _Moon River_ starts to play on the screen and the cab creeps down the New York City street, Emily tucks herself against Allison’s shoulder, her mind racing and her body aching. She’s grateful for the distraction of the movie, and for the next hour and a half, she’s lulled out of her own mind.

She doesn’t have the courage to admit that her friend might be right about everything. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 12!


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This could be damaging to my career, Emily” Her mother says coldly. “You never learn, do you?
> 
> Aaron and Emily from the early days of him working for the Ambassador, and onward to present day. Chapter 12.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a flashback chapter. TW definitely applies to mentions of abortion, overdose, possible attempted suicide, alcohol/drug usage.Enjoy!

**Chapter 12: Black Balloon:**

_ A thousand other boys could never reach you. How could I have been the one?  _ _ I saw the world spin beneath you, and scatter like ice from the spoon. _

**_Five Years Ago - Italy_ **

_ Nine hundred thirty four seconds. _

That’s how long the  _ procedure _ takes from start to finish. She lays on her back and stares at the cracked ceiling with Matthew’s hands wrapped tightly around hers the entire time. He watches her with nervous eyes, clearly unaware of how these things are done. 

The only thing she feels is numbness. She pretends to listen to the doctor who explains the whole procedure in the beginning with just enough detail to make her nauseous. Despite that, her voice is kind, clearly concerned for her fifteen year old patient. Emily barely hears Matthew when he tells her it’ll all be all right as the doctor sits down at her feet, because it  _ won’t _ . Nothing about this is or ever will be  _ okay _ . 

She almost laughs when she’s told to relax; the table beneath her is hard and unforgiving. Emily doesn’t (or won’t let herself) care. It  _ has _ to end. There simply is no other option. She’s given one last chance to back out, but with an indignant shake of her head, it starts. 

There’s pressure - _a_ _lot_ of pressure, a few pinches here, some burning there. She winces through the cramping that comes almost instantly, a reminder of just what exactly is happening under the sheet draped on her trembling knees. All she wants is to know is when it’s _done_ \- to feel something - anything - yet she’s frozen, a stranger to her own body. When it’s over, she feels a juxtaposition of relief and an empty hollowness, and she sleeps for a half an hour before she’s _finally_ allowed to leave. 

At “home” (Italy isn’t home and never will be, but she’s not quite sure where  _ home _ is), the bleeding starts, and even she is shocked at the bright crimson that stains her sheets. She’d been warned of this part; she knows what to expect - but actually  _ seeing _ it is the sobering reality of the consequences of her actions. 

Matthew stays by her side as long as he can, but even he leaves as the sun starts to dip in the sky. She doesn’t know if it’s night or day; the darkness outside is just too still and all the colors of the sky run together outside her window. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says, rising to his feet, looking incredibly unsure of himself, and she suddenly realizes he hasn’t eaten anything all day. “Will you be okay?” 

Emily manages a nod, pain rolling through her abdomen like a wave. Or a rip current. She’s still bleeding, that much she knows. It hasn’t stopped since they got home hours ago. “Can you come back tomorrow?” She  _ hates _ feeling this weak, but if there’s anyone who won’t judge her, it’s Matthew. 

“My parents want to go to Tuscany for a few days,” he says apologetically, staring at his shoes because he knows he’s disappointing her. “They … want me to come … a family thing, you know?” He won’t meet her gaze, and Emily isn’t surprised. Matthew’s parents  _ hate _ her, as they should. They’d most likely disown him (or worse) if they knew where he  _ really _ was today. 

She opens her mouth to speak, but another cramp takes her by surprise and she curls even more tightly into the fetal position, rocking through the pain. “It’s okay.”  _ It’s not okay, it’ll never be okay.  _

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” Matthew shifts on his feet after she’s finally able to look up at him again. “I … I didn’t know how to bring it up. They think something is up with me ...They think we need to spend more time together.” He looks woefully guilty, which in turn makes  _ her _ feel guilty. Moreso than she already does. His voice rises an octave, something that means he’s stressed. “They’re threatening to move us to another city if I don’t get it together. Then I won’t be able to see you anymore.” 

“Matthew,” Emily croaks through gritted teeth. “It’s okay. I understand. Come over when you get back?”  _ It’s not his fault _ , _ it’s your own. _

“I will,” he promises, and she believes him, because it’s Matthew and he’s true to his word. He leaves reluctantly, his face grey with concern, and yet she pushes him out because deep down, it’s the right thing to do. 

_ Little does she know, it’s one of the last times she’ll see him.  _

…

It’s 4:03 AM when she remembers them. 

She’s barely slept at all; her body hovers in a dreamless haze. Hours could have passed, or minutes - she’s not sure, but when her eyes glance at the clock, it’s been almost eight hours since Matthew left. 

She still has the pills at the bottom of her bag. The small white triangular pills, stamped with the little tiny X, the ones she’d been given almost two months ago when she arrived at John’s pool with Matthew close behind her. He’s talking to her but she barely hears him. Something about not hooking up with John, because John is already hooking up with multiple other girls and he breaks hearts as easily as he breaks promises. Emily brushes him aside, smoothing her skirt over her bathing suit, saying a silent prayer that her makeup won’t smear in the muggy summer heat.

She’d had one goal - finding John of course - but that girl with the dark hair … what was her name … Becca … Becca told her the high was unlike anything else she’d tried as she pressed the small bag into her hand, a knowing glint in her eyes. Emily pocketed the pills and lit a cigarette, leaving Matthew to fend for himself as she disappeared behind the door of the poolhouse only to return with an overwhelming sense of shame, pills forgotten. 

Her room is dark but she doesn’t need the light. The pills are exactly where she left them, tucked at the very bottom of her bag in their own smaller plastic bag. Emily isn’t sure how many she takes - it’s too dark to see and she’s too dizzy to count - the cramps are unlike any she’s experienced before- but when she dry swallows them a few get stuck in her throat. She washes the rest down with water, and soon enough, the world is fuzzy, her body seemingly weightless and the air around her pleasantly warm. The cramps are gone; it’s as if she’s floating before everything goes dark. 

…

Elizabeth Prentiss stares at the wall, unable to look at her daughter, her lips pressed into a thin line, her face pale. She looks  _ weary _ , Emily notices immediately when she opens her eyes, and for a brief moment she wishes she could take it back. Take all of it back. 

They’ve been sitting in silence for almost forty minutes. 

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Emily mutters, twisting the edge of the blanket in her fingers. “I don’t know what happened.” 

“According to the doctor, you swallowed enough of those pills to kill yourself, Emily.” Her face is pale; her typical steely exterior gone. “Where did you even get those things?” 

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,  _ obviously _ .”  _ But was she?  _

“Even if you didn’t  _ mean _ to, you got quite close. Do you have  _ any _ idea what it’s like to be woken up in the middle of the night to ambulances and paramedics banging on your door? You are _ lucky _ , Emily. Lucky that Marjorie happened to find you in the bathroom when she saw the light on. Do you remember any of it?” 

Emily cringes at the thought of their sweet and kind housekeeper finding her. She didn’t deserve that. She makes a mental note to apologize to the sweet woman who did nothing but take care of her since she arrived in Italy. 

“Do you know what it’s like to watch your daughter get her stomach pumped? That image will be  _ forever _ seared into my memory.” Elizabeth swallows, the wrinkles lining her face suddenly more profound. “To see your own child covered in … charcoal and...her own vomit?” She shudders, her lip curling with disgust. “Once in a lifetime is enough for me.” 

_ That’s  _ why her throat aches. She cringes at the thought of  _ that _ \- she knows what it entails.

Her mother is talking; Emily can’t hear her.  _ She didn’t take that many pills, did she?  _ Racking her brain, she tries to recall just what happened in the moments before everything went dark, but nothing comes to mind. The only thing she remembers is the burning pain of cramps and the emptiness of the silence.

“We’re going home, Emily. Back to the US.” There’s something in her mother’s voice that sounds like disappointment, and Emily is certain it’s not because her mother is upset about leaving Italy.  _ Nope - she’s disappointed in me- I let you down, again. _

“No we’re not.” Emily rakes her fingers through her hair, wishing she had a brush or a hair band. Her hair feels matted and dirty; a shower would feel  _ incredible _ right now. “We’re not  _ fucking _ leaving.” 

“We are.” 

“It was an accident, Mom,” She feels the panic starting to rise as she attempts to think of a plausible lie. “I  _ wasn’t _ trying to kill myself.” 

“This isn’t the right environment for you.Your behavior has shown that time and time again. You’re out all hours of the night, doing God knows what. I’ve suspected it for a long time - I just didn’t want to believe the daughter  _ I raised _ ,” she places emphasis on those words, “ _ with every possible opportunity,  _ would be so cavalier, with such blatant  _ disregard _ for everything I taught you **.”**

“I’m not leaving,” Emily crosses her arms and sets her jaw, her mind flashing to Matthew, even to John.  _ She’ll have to drag me on that plane. _

“ _ This could be damaging to my career, Emily”  _ Her mother says coldly. “You  _ never _ learn, do you? We  _ are _ leaving, and I  _ will  _ drag you on that plane myself if I have to.”

“Mom,” Emily attempts, but it’s pointless, because Elizabeth is already on her feet, headed towards the door. When it slams behind her, she doesn’t look back. 

...

Exactly one week later, they land in DC after an endlessly long flight in the midst of a rainstorm. They’re whisked away to the Ambassador’s mansion and Emily stares absently out the window as the limousine glides up the long driveway. She already  _ hates _ it here. 

…

A few days after that, she’s back at it again. It’s a lesson she still hasn’t learned. Maybe she never will. 

She’s lucky enough to make one friend at her new school - a girl named Allison - when she’s desperately in need of a cigarette during her lunch break. Allison saves the day, passing over her lighter and striking up a conversation. She’s  _ intense _ , smacking her gum loudly, her hands adorned with a variety of rings, fingernails painted black and her hair flying about in a mess. But Emily is grateful for someone to talk to, and for a fleeting moment she thinks of Matthew in Tuscany.  _ He has no idea _ , she thinks, her heart twisting.  _ Maybe, just maybe, she’ll work up the nerve to call him once he’s home.  _ She wonders how he’ll take the news.

Most of the girls at this school turn their noses up at her, not even giving her a chance. She’s used to fancy prep schools, yet this one is a whole different ball game. She looks like the part in her too-crisp skirt and blazer, but there’s no denying the whispers of the other girls when she passes by. _It’s as if they know too much already_ , and Emily keeps her eyes on her shoes as she navigates the maze of hallways with a lump in her throat. 

As they’re eating lunch, Allison mentions a party later that night - and while Emily  _ knows _ it’s not a good idea, she agrees to it anyway, because what the hell, what’s one more mistake?

... 

That night, she paints her lips red and her eyes black and puts on the shortest, tightest outfit she owns before sneaking out of the Ambassador’s mansion almost too easily. Allison is dressed similarly, and for once she feels like she fits in as they walk into the party together. Allison knows  _ everyone _ , and she wastes no time introducing Emily to the offspring of the various DC elite.

They’re about halfway through the crowd when Allison suddenly stops, pointing to someone Emily hasn’t met yet. “Stay away from that guy over there,” she says casually, flicking her cigarette. “Tom Seymour. He’s bad news.” She gestures to a tall, dark haired guy, achingly handsome, and even from the distance Emily can tell his eyes are a shocking shade of blue. “It’s a shame because he’s  _ so _ hot.” 

Emily swallows; her throat is suddenly dry. “How so?” 

Allison rolls her eyes. “He fucks  _ anything _ with boobs and has a really bad temper. All around problematic. The girls he hooks up with …” she looks around suspiciously. “They’re all  _ insane. _ Or at least they end up that way. _ ” _

_ Sounds exactly like my type,  _ Emily thinks as someone presses a plastic cup of something that smells like straight ethanol into her hand. She wrinkles her nose at the bright red liquid in the cup. “What is this?” 

“Jungle juice,” Allison also has a cup in her hand. “Refills are over there,” she points to a large plastic swimming pool filled with the red mixture. An obviously drunk girl is stirring the liquid with a large sand shovel, another is dumping in a large cooler of ice. Emily nods slowly, blinking curiously at the scene in front of her, already feeling tomorrow’s hangover. 

“I’m going to find the guy I’ve been hooking up with,” Allison says, downing her cup in one easy gulp. “I’ll catch up with you in a little bit.” She spins on her heel, nearly disappearing into the crowd before turning back. “Whatever you do, don’t set your cup down.” 

...

Emily is getting a refill (her third) when  _ he _ sidles up to her, the perfect mix of cocky, confident, yet slightly aloof. “I’m Tom,” he says, his eyes flicking between her and just over her shoulder. “Haven’t seen you here before.” 

“Emily,” she extends her hand and when he shakes it, he grips just a little too tightly, his smile never quite touching his eyes. It sets off warning bells in her head but she doesn’t care - tonight she just wants to feel something besides  _ pain _ . 

“Prentiss?” 

“Yeah - how’d you know?” 

He smiles again, and it gives her chills. “You just moved here right? From Italy? Your mom is the Ambassador?” 

“Yeah …” Emily lifts her cup to her lips. The refill tastes stronger than her first two, if that’s even possible.  _ How does he know all of this? _

“My dad told me about you. He works with your mom. He helped get her appointed in her new position.” Tom is looking her up and down with unabashed boldness, and there’s no question what’s going through his mind. His eyes linger on her chest and Emily fights the urge to turn around. “I heard you guys had to leave Italy pretty unexpectedly.” 

The warning bells get louder, no matter how much she tries to ignore them. “Uh .. yeah .. something like that.” 

“I don’t know details, but my dad says your mom is pretty awesome at what she does. He told me to make sure I introduce myself.”With an amused roll of his eyes, they settle right back on her chest. “He told me to take care of you and show you a good time.” 

There’s something in his words she just can’t trust **.** She’s about to ask him just  _ what _ that means when he dismisses her with a wave of his hand, reaching into his pocket. “Want to have some fun?” 

Her eyes narrow and when he laughs, she’s almost certain he’s laughing at her. 

“Not like that,” he says smoothly. “My girl is somewhere around here.” He jerks his head in the direction of the jungle juice before reaching for her wrist. He presses 3 triangle shaped pills into her palm. “You ever done X, Emily?” 

She shakes her head, and even though she’s only known him for five minutes, she’s already told him her first lie. It certainly won’t be the last. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 13 coming soon!


	13. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What happened to your hand, Aaron?" Her voice is so cold it nearly sends a chill down his spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back in the present day, and things will be a bit lighter, at least for a little while! Let me know what you think, and enjoy!

**Chapter 13: Don’t Look Back in Anger**

_ Take me to the place where you go, where nobody knows If it's night or day _

Aaron finds her sitting outside on one of the tree-lined patios on the lower level of the mansion. She’s directly in the sun, feet propped up and a magazine resting on her knees. There’s a full glass of something that looks alcoholic on the table next to her; her back is to the gated entrance so she can’t see him. The only thing visible from the back of her chair is her messy bun sticking out over the top.

He wonders if she knows already. He pauses briefly, contemplating coming clean but quickly decides against it. 

“Hello, Aaron.” Her voice is cool, calculated, and perfectly smooth. She doesn’t even turn around, and he hasn’t made a sound.  _ How did she know he was there?  _

“Emily,” he keeps his tone even, taking three steps onto the patio. It’s breezy and the sun is warm, but that’s not why he’s already started to sweat through his suit. “Mind if I sit?” 

She shrugs, takes her sunglasses off, and looks up at him suspiciously. “Do I have a choice?” 

“Of- of course you do,” he stutters, momentarily taken aback at her curt response. “Do you want me to leave?”

Emily’s eyes widen briefly, considering his offer before her face softens ever so slightly. “I guess not.” She moves over a few inches, making space for him on the chair. 

_ Has anyone ever given her a choice before? _

“Haven’t seen you in a few days.”  _ It’s been five, but who's counting?  _

“I’ve been busy.” She really hasn’t at all, but he doesn’t have to know that. Besides doing everything in her power to avoid him, the extent of her productivity includes a few days of laying by the pool with Allison, and a few nights of drinking alone in her bedroom until she passed out or threw up, whichever came first. She’s successfully been able to avoid most people including her mother, much to her relief. 

“I see.” He clearly doesn’t believe her, but she doesn’t care. 

“Are you just going to stand there? Or did you come here for something?” 

Aaron sits down beside her, peering closely at her face. “It looks a lot better.” He touches his thumb to the slowly healing bruise under her eye, then presses around her cheek gently, feeling for any residual swelling. Moving his thumb down her nose with even more tenderness, he exhales with relief.“The swelling has gone down a lot. Are you taking anything?” 

“Not really.” 

“You aren’t taking any painkillers?” 

“They didn’t do much in the first place,” she grumbles under her breath, and it takes all of her willpower not to lean into his hand. “It’s still going to scar.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” he says almost too kindly, his hand lingering on her face. 

She pulls away quickly, putting her sunglasses back on. An uneasy silence falls between them and he pulls at his tie, watching her turn back to her magazine with disinterest.

“So, did you hear about Tom?” Emily breaks the silence, casually flipping through her magazine, yet her tone tells him everything he needs to know. It isn’t a question. It’s a confirmation. 

_ So she does know. The more important question, however, is how much she knows.  _

He lifts his eyebrows, hoping it’s convincing. “What are you talking about?” 

“Someone beat him up in a bar on Friday night. Scared the living fuck out of him, I heard.” Another flick of the page, yet he feels her eyes watching him carefully. 

“Good,” he says tightly, not feeling an ounce of guilt. “He deserved it.” 

“Maybe,” she murmurs, not looking at him. “I heard he was pretty messed up. He spent two days in the hospital.” 

“And that saddens you?”

“I never said that.” 

Aaron’s hand travels to the gun at his side, perhaps unconsciously. “I told you it was going to stop.” 

She smirks bitterly, but her shoulders start to tense.  _ It was worth it _ , he reminds himself. 

“And where did you end up on Friday night after you left my room?” Another flick of a page in the magazine.  _ She’s testing him _ . He recognizes the signs. She knows more than she’s letting on, just like him. 

“Does it matter?” 

“Yes, it matters.” Emily pulls her sunglasses down, eyes baring into his. “I think I have a right to know, all things considered.” A shadow falls over her face, and from this angle the bruises on her cheek are more prominent.  _ Another reminder it was all worth it.  _

“I told you it was going to stop,” he repeats again, stone-faced.

She’s mid sigh when she notices it; she can’t believe she didn’t see it sooner. She tosses her magazine to the side; her body stiffening like a board. She looks him square in the face, as if daring him to lie to her. “What happened to your hand, Aaron?” 

Her voice is so cold it nearly sends a chill down his spine. He glances down to where her eyes are locked in on his right hand. His knuckles are still healing from the other day - the torn skin bruised an ugly shade of purple. He’d completely forgotten about it - it’s started to scab over, yet it hides nothing. 

“Tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.” Emily reaches for his hand, brushing her fingers over the rough skin. Her touch is surprisingly gentle, yet her fingers are like ice. 

He’s silent, his face lined with guilt. 

“Aaron!” It’s as much of an answer as she needs, and she drops his hand with disgust. “So it was you.” 

He averts his gaze, unable to look her in the eyes.

“You should have just stayed the fuck out of it,” She snaps, moving away from him on the chair. 

“That was off the table the minute I saw what he did to you.” 

“It wasn’t  _ that _ bad,” Emily attempts, not fully believing her own words, yet she says them anyway because she’s been saying them for so long it’s the first thing that comes to mind. 

“You  _ were _ there that night, weren’t you? You  _ saw _ what he did, right? He broke your nose, Emily. Messed up half your face. You’re  _ lucky _ it wasn’t any  _ worse _ .”

“You said it would stay between us,” she seethes. He’s never seen her so angry. “You gave me your word.” 

“I told you I wouldn’t  _ tell _ anyone, and I didn’t.” 

_ No, you just weaseled your way into my business and became another problem for me to solve. _

Emily slaps her magazine shut, rising to her feet. “Do you know what this means? Do you know what you’ve done?” 

He glares at her, setting his jaw. “He could have killed you. Is that what you want? Do you want it to go that far one day? Because that would have been next.” 

“Some days, I don’t know what the hell I want, Aaron.” There’s so much weight behind her words he isn’t even sure if she’s talking about Tom anymore. 

He’s tempted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her for being so indifferent towards her own well-being. But she crosses her arms over her chest, backing away from him cautiously. 

“His father is asking questions, and if there’s anyone who will find answers, it’s him. People are _talking_ about the person who showed up at a bar seemingly out of nowhere and broke his son’s jaw before knocking him nearly unconscious. It was on the _fucking_ news, Aaron.” 

“Good. Let them ask,” Aaron says pointedly. “He should know about the piece of shit son he raised.” 

“Where do you think he learned his ways?” Emily rolls her eyes, staring him down. “His father would probably congratulate him.” 

“That’s not even close to a valid excuse,” he fumes right back. 

“I didn’t want to think you actually betrayed my trust, Aaron. I thought for once it was karma finally biting him in the ass after everything he’s done for so long.” 

“That wasn’t my intention, Emily.” Despite her obvious anger, he isn’t sorry about any of it. In fact, he’d do it all over again if he could, but he keeps that to himself. 

“But you did.” Emily’s voice thickens for a brief second and she swallows hard, shaking her head. “I had a feeling it was you the second I heard about it.”

“I wasn’t going to let him hurt you again.” 

She shakes her head. “His father is powerful. He’s the reason why my mother still has her job. If this gets out, guess what happens. I _won’t_ disappoint her again, Aaron. I’ve done that too many times.” She sinks back to the chair, resting her elbows on her knees, massaging her temples. 

“Your  _ mother _ should straighten her priorities,” he says boldly, before instantly realizing it was the exact wrong thing to say in this particular moment. Emily’s face darkens, and wherever her mind goes, he isn’t sure he wants to know. 

“ _Someone_ saw what happened that night, and if it gets back to you,” she bites, “It will eventually get back to _me._ Then it’s _my_ problem. Imagine the questions that will raise,” she adds with a pointed stare. “Think of the rumors that would start about you and me.” 

She’s right. Those rumors could cost him his job, quite possibly his career. 

“Does anyone else know what he did to you? What he has  _ done _ to you?” Using her own words against her feels wrong, as if he’s indirectly assaulting her again. 

Emily laughs without a trace of humor; her fingers unconsciously reach up to her eye, brushing over her nose. “You’re impossibly naive, Aaron.” 

“Or maybe I just give a damn. Someone needs to know the truth.”

“No one needs to know anything,” Emily says quietly, wrapping herself in the towel on the chair despite the scorching sun. “It’s not their business.” 

“People need to know that he’s an abusive son of a bitch.” Aaron says pointedly. “You deserve better than that.” 

“Better? As in someone like  _ you _ ?” 

He freezes almost immediately, his mouth falling open just enough for her to tell she’s won. He uncharacteristically stumbles over his words. “That’s - that’s not what I -” 

Emily rises to her feet again, slapping her sunglasses back on her face and covering herself with her wrap. “I don’t need to be saved, Aaron. I don’t need to be protected or defended,  _ whatever _ you think you were doing. I’ve taken care of myself long enough.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and even with her eyes hidden he can see the anger in her face. “And I certainly don’t need  _ you.”  _ She turns on her heel sharply and slams the door into the house, leaving him alone on the patio. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 14!


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a filler chapter to hold us over for a few days until Aaron and Emily get themselves together … somewhat. Things are going to heat up after this, never fear my friends, but for now, they’re still figuring things out and taking their grand old time along the way. Thank you for your sweet comments and reviews - I love hearing what you’re thinking. As always, enjoy!

**Chapter 14: How You Remind Me** : _It's not like you to say sorry. I was waiting on a different story. This time I'm mistaken. For handing you a heart worth breaking_

Aaron glances at the clock on the wall, willing the minutes to go faster. It’s as if time moves backwards at work now. An eight hour shift is like watching paint dry; a double would be absolute misery. 

Three days have passed since his encounter with Emily on the patio. No matter how many times he tries to push her out of his mind, he overplays every piece of their argument over and over, as if on loop. He’s avoiding her - that much he knows, and it’s highly likely she’s avoiding him too. He hasn’t seen her at all since she’d gotten up and left in a fit of rage; she’s kept a low profile around the mansion ever since. 

With another few hours left to go until the end of his shift, he sighs heavily and sips from the Styrofoam coffee cup in his hand - there isn’t enough caffeine in the world to get him through this one. Tonight, he’s posted at the mansion’s entrance, manning the front grounds and driveway with one of the other agents he’s gotten to know fairly well over the last few weeks. Normally he works inside, but they’re short staffed tonight. Aaron doesn’t mind - being outside means less of a chance of running into Emily, and he doesn’t mind working with Shane, who knows when to start a conversation, and when to leave him alone. 

“Got any plans after this?” Shane asks, impatiently checking his own watch. 

“Not really,” Aaron says with a yawn. It’s been a long day - and night, considering he hasn’t slept much in the last week. “You?” 

“Gonna hit up the drive in with my girlfriend,” Shane says, half of his attention on the crossword puzzle in front of him. “She’s been dying to go. Kinda late for a movie, but they’re showing something at midnight so I guess it’s a date.” 

Aaron nods, sipping his black coffee, wishing it were stronger. “Sounds fun.” 

“Yeah. Figured I’d take her out for once. I don’t get out much anymore, you know. With this job and all.” Shane chuckles. Aaron stays silent, unsure of where to take the conversation. 

“You seein’ anyone, Hotchner?” 

He stares at Shane, his mouth agape, and the other agent laughs good naturedly. 

“It’s not a hard question, dude. Either you are or you aren’t.” 

Aaron runs a hand through his hair, his eyes glancing up at the front of the house to where Emily’s bedroom is brightly lit, yet the curtains are firmly closed. It’s been like that for hours, not that he’s been watching. “Nope,” he mumbles, checking his watch one more time. _Only three more hours to go._ “Didn’t work out.” 

_As if it ever would have._

“Sorry man. That’s never easy. I’ve been there.” Shane shrugs sympathetically, turning back to the crossword puzzle balanced on his knee. “You should come out with us sometime after a shift. I can introduce you to some of my girlfriend’s friends.” 

He’s about to politely decline - the idea doesn’t sound the slightest bit appealing - when he’s temporarily blinded by the headlights of a large, black SUV rolling up the driveway, as if on cue. 

The car rolls to a stop in front of the mansion. Out stumbles a girl Aaron recognizes almost instantly. She clearly doesn’t want to be recognized though, dressed in all black, and even in the dusk she wears a baseball hat pulled down low over her eyes. The only giveaway is the tell-tale red hair in a low messy bun spilling out from beneath, and the large paper bag tucked under her arm. 

_Allison_. 

His stomach twists as she strides towards them purposefully and boldly. Most guests are required to show ID upon arrival to be added to the manifest, yet it’s obvious she’s been there many times before as she gives them both a nod, seemingly oblivious to the fact they’re both armed. 

“Hey, Allison,” Shane says casually, stepping aside to let her pass. “How’ve you been?” He clearly knows her, Aaron observes, judging by the small smile that breaks her sullen face. 

“Pretty shitty, actually.” She pauses, lifting the brim of her cap to reveal swollen eyes. “Remember that guy I told you about?” 

“Harvard dude? The baseball player?” Shane appears to be guessing, and it’s obvious this is a conversation they’ve had many times before. Aaron can’t help but question if Emily too has had similar conversations with the security team, but he quickly pushes it out of his mind. _Don’t even go there_. 

Allison scoffs. “No, not him. He’s been long gone. Like _way_ gone. I’m talking about the Georgetown guy. I told you about him, didn’t I?” 

“Georgetown guy. Oh, right.” Shane clearly is out of the loop yet offers a sympathetic look as Allison adjusts the paper bag of what is clearly a bottle of booze under her arm. He says nothing - alcohol technically has to be searched upon arrival - and Aaron follows suit, not wanting to create a scene. 

“He sucks,” she says pointedly. “I’m _done_ with all of these jerks. They all _fucking suck.”_ She wobbles on her feet ever so slightly before righting herself quickly. 

Aaron wonders if she’s been drinking already as she’s waived through the security protocols and the front door is buzzed open. 

“Emily’s upstairs?” Allison turns over her shoulder to look back at both of them. “She said I could come over.” 

“She should be,” Shane says with a quick check of the log entries. “According to this she hasn’t left all night. She’s been staying in a lot lately. All the parties catching up with the two of you?” 

Aaron swallows uncomfortably as Allison’s gaze rests solely on him. “Something like that,” she says in a low voice, flashing a knowing look in his direction before she disappears behind the heavy doors without another word.

He realizes he’s still staring at the closed door when Shane’s voice takes him out of his own head. “Those two, man. I can’t keep up with them.” 

“What do you mean?” _He knows exactly what Shane means._

“They’re always drinking and partying and who knows what else. They’ve always been like that. One of these days … they’re going to learn the hard way. Maybe more than they already have.” Shane has already busied himself with updating the security manifest, unbothered by it all. 

Aaron says nothing, taking an even bigger sip of coffee this time, and his eyes linger back to Emily’s window as the rest of the night passes in near silence.

…

“You have to admit, Em. “What he did was kind of … noble?” Allison drawls as she passes the fifth of vodka between them. Misery loves company, she joked as she pushed past Emily and set up shop in her bedroom almost two hours ago, waving the full bottle in the air. 

At first Emily refused - she _needs_ to stop drinking herself to sleep every night. But she owes her friend, _and_ somehow Allison managed to get Ketel One, so she concedes with a sigh. Soon after that, the bottle is over half empty and the room starts to blend at the edges, their voices starting to slur.

After Allison cries it out for a good hour, the conversation switches to the topic Emily knows she can’t avoid. 

“It wasn’t _noble_ , Allison. It was stupid,” Emily says with a sniff, the vodka burning her throat a bit too much for her liking on the way down. “That was probably the worst possible thing he could have done. For _so_ many reasons.” 

“I saw him on my way in.” Allison says what Emily refuses to ask (not that she isn’t curious), and she rolls her eyes in annoyance. 

“I’m sure you did, Al. He still works here, you know.” She takes another drink and chases it down with some warm diet coke, a grimace smearing across her face. Normally vodka doesn’t make her this _nauseous,_ but tonight is different for some reason. 

“He looked like hell. Almost as bad as you do.” 

“Uh .. thanks? You don’t look too hot yourself, you know.” Emily glances down at her oversized sweatshirt and skimpy shorts - _when_ was the last time she changed her clothes? Certainly not today. Her hair is matted and tangled in a pile on top of her head, her face is free of makeup. The bruises are still there; she touches them self-consciously every now and then. 

“Have you talked to him at all?” 

“Not since the other day.” Emily can’t hide the disappointment in her voice. “I don’t have anything to say to him.” 

“You? Nothing to say? I don’t believe that.” 

“What am I supposed to say, Allison? _Thank you?_ ” It comes out harsher than she anticipated, yet it doesn’t faze her friend. “I think not.” 

“He risked a lot for you. His job, for starters. Can you imagine the shitstorm that would have rained down if it got out that it was him?” Allison lights a cigarette, fumbling with the lighter and reaching for the ashtray. “You’d be up shit’s creek without a paddle. You both would.” 

“Which is exactly why I told him to stay out of it in the first place.” 

“I know you’re too proud to admit it, Em, but he did what should have been done a long time ago.” 

“Stop,” Emily snaps, and yet she’s just tipsy enough that the thought of him almost makes her smile. Almost. Instead, she frowns, because all she feels is shame. 

“We both know I’m right.”” 

“I’ve treated him like shit. I basically told him to fuck off.” Emily picks at the frayed hem of her sweatshirt, needing something to do with her hands. 

“I don’t know why. He’s treated you better than any of the other winners you’ve been with.” Allison’s brutal honesty is almost refreshing. “What’s gotten into you? It’s like you don’t even care anymore.” 

Emily sighs. “He _promised_ me he wouldn’t tell anyone, Allison. And look what he did.” 

“Technically, he didn’t break your promise, Em. He just … took some matters into his own hands.” 

Emily scoffs. “I didn’t think _you’d_ take his side.” 

It’s Allison’s turn to roll her eyes. “I’m _not_ ,” she says with frustration. “I’m just saying … he clearly cares about you, Emily. Regardless of how he shows it. That’s more than you can say about Tom, at least. Or that loser from Italy, if we’re keeping track.” 

Emily laughs and takes another long swig, her mind pleasantly numb. “However much he cares or _did_ care, _that_ ship has probably sailed. I don’t think he wants anything to do with me anymore.” 

“No offense, Em, but I wouldn’t want to either after what you said to him. Maybe I’ll start checking out the security staff more on my way in. Seems like a good way to find a man.” She leans against the wall, a wistful look spreading across her face. “I wish Shane was single.” 

Emily says nothing, staring at the imprint on the vodka bottle, tracing her finger in the grooves.

“I can tell you regret what you said to him.” 

“I thought you came here to bitch about Chad,” Emily says pointedly with a touch of annoyance, handing the bottle back. “I didn’t think this was going to turn into an Aaron interrogation.” 

“We’re both too problematic to focus on just one issue, Emily. You know that.” Her friend’s tone is in jest, but there’s truth behind her words. 

“What do I do?” Emily doesn’t mean to say it aloud - she’s not looking for an answer, but she gets one anyway. 

“You could start by apologizing,” Allison quips lightly, missing the bottle when she reaches for it once again, the telltale sign she’s had just a little too much. “I’ve heard that works wonders. Not that I’ve had any real success.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Emily says, resisting the urge to yawn and desperately wanting to change the subject. “Enough about me. Tell me what happened with Chad.” 

Allison bites back a sob once again, and as her friend falls into her arms in a fit of tears, Emily is grateful to have someone _else_ to put back together for once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 15 coming soon!


	15. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is a bad idea,” she warns, her voice barely audible, because once it starts again, there’s no chance she’ll be able to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all - I hope you are having a good week. Here is chapter 15, and as promised, things will start to heat up here for awhile. This chapter is rated M. Enjoy :)

**Chapter 15: Bedroom Hymns** : _I’m not here looking for absolution, Because I found myself an old solution_

Her face is healing better than she anticipated - the bruises have faded enough to only require a coat of makeup if she goes out. The gash on her cheek is waning from angry red to a healing pink, and it’s started to itch like something terrible unless she remembers to use the hydrocortisone cream. Luckily, it doesn’t look like it will scar. 

At least she dodged that bullet. 

It’s been almost two weeks since the incident, nine days since she’d told him off in her fit of rage. And despite her stubbornness, deep down, she knows he was right. He was right all along, about all of it. 

As the days slip past, he’s all but disappeared from her day to day sightings, and she’s stopped trying to stumble upon him accidentally because obviously he’s doing everything he can to avoid her now. It’s clear he’s not going to come back easily, and after another day of pondering it over, she swallows her pride and goes to him to wave the white flag. 

...

Emily finds him in his office deep within the security building **,** his head bent over a stack of folders with another pile beside him.She’s never actually been in this particular building before, she realizes when she pushes the heavy door open, the unfamiliar hallways a maze of closed doors. It’s almost sterile, with crisp tile floors and blindingly white walls, most of the doors firmly shut. _It suits him,_ Emily thinks with a hint of sadness as she meanders to his office in no particular hurry, stopping when she sees the door with his name on it. 

She shivers when she sees him behind his desk, telling herself it’s because the air conditioning is on full blast. _It is summer, after all_. “Hey.” 

“Oh. Hey.” Aaron looks up briefly, acknowledging her presence coolly before all of his attention is back to the work in front of him. “What do you need?” 

“How’ve you been?” She hangs in the threshold of the door, waiting for him to look up again. He doesn’t.

“Not bad. Yourself?” His pen flies across the page, signing off on the daily log entries and security reports, eyes still glued to the desk. If he’s attempting to look uninterested, he’s doing a damn good job.

“I’ve been alright.” _Alright_ is a bit of a stretch. She can’t remember the last time she’s had a real meal; diet coke and half a poptart are essentially breakfast, lunch, and dinner if she even remembers to eat at all. But at least she’s out of bed for the first time in a few days, showered _with_ makeup on, _and_ she’s stopped drinking herself to sleep. _Baby steps_. 

He gives the slightest nod. “Good to hear.” It’s a dismissal in the clearest form, his tone curt enough to sting. He’s obviously in no mood to see her, let alone talk to her. Not that she blames him, since their last encounter had been such a smashing success.

“I’m guessing you’ve heard,” she tries again, this time with a tremor in her voice. Out of habit, she glances behind her before shutting the door. 

“About?” 

She blinks, wondering if he’s being purposefully aloof. “It seems as if Tom has refused an investigation” Emily clears her throat, nervously twisting the bracelet on her wrist. “They’re chalking it up to a random mugging since he’s refusing to file a complaint or take things any farther.” 

“Is that so?” He looks up, a neutral expression on his face. _He’s good. She’s better, but he’s pretty good at this._

“Apparently.” 

Aaron swallows, completely unaffected. 

_If there’s something he’s not telling me,_ she thinks, _he’s certainly good at hiding it._

“Supposedly his friend from the bar doesn’t remember anything either,” Emily says slowly and deliberately, head turning to the side. Do you know anything about that?” 

Aaron holds her eyes, yet his expression doesn’t change. “Not a thing.” 

She lifts an eyebrow, giving him a quizzical stare; it’s obvious she doesn’t quite believe him, yet accepts his answer anyway. “Their family lawyer called me too. Asking what I knew about what happened that night.”

_That_ perks his interest. “What did you tell them?” 

“I told them I had no idea, and that we were through a long time ago.” She pauses for a moment, avoiding his gaze. “Let bygones be bygones,” she adds softly. “It’s over.” 

“Over?” 

“We’re through … Tom and me.” She breathes a sigh of relief as she says the words aloud.

“I’m glad.” He picks up his pen again, twirls it in his fingers. _At least he doesn’t have to tell her the truth now. Maybe one day he will, but there’s no point now. As she said, let bygones be bygones._

Emily leans against the side of his desk and traces a pattern over the mahogany wood with her finger, and Aaron watches her through narrow eyes, trying to decipher what would actually bring her _here_ , to this office, in the middle of the workday. 

“Is that why you’re here? To see what I know about all of this?” 

She laughs. “You got me there.” 

When _he_ doesn’t laugh, she stiffens and nervously rakes a hand through her hair. “Listen, ah. I’m sorry for what I said the other day,” Emily scrapes her shoe against the floor, feeling very small. “I ...um.” She stops, bites her lower lip, searching his face for a sign to keep talking, but his expression is unreadable. “I’m not very good at apologizing,” she admits sheepishly, and he actually smiles this time, puts his pen down and stares right at her.

“You were being honest.” The intensity of his gaze causes her to avert her own. “I respect that.” 

“What if I wasn’t?” She hates how nervous she sounds, and how easily he can read right through her. 

“What do you mean?” 

She takes a deep breath. “What if … What I said the other day isn’t really what I meant?” 

“Emily,” he begins firmly, clearly frustrated, briefly resting his head on his hands. “I don’t have time for word games. I overstepped my boundaries - you made that abundantly clear. I think,” he adds, pausing to take a deep breath - the first one he’s taken since she showed up in his office. “I think it’s best if I stay out of things at this point. I don’t want to make things more complicated for you. Take some time to figure things out. Start fresh.” 

_Oh, you already have,_ Emily thinks _. You already have, just not in the way you think._ “It’s already figured out,” she says softly. “I have you to thank for that.” There’s nothing but raw sincerity in her voice. “I should have thanked you the other day.” 

His pen freezes over the folder; his head lifts, his expression unchanging but just the slightest touch of curiosity in his eyes. He says nothing; she takes that as her cue to continue. 

“You did me a favor, Aaron. I knew that at the time … I’ve known for a long time actually.” She takes a deep breath. “I guess I’m just … a little stubborn in actually admitting it.”

“I figured that out a while ago,” he says dryly.

“I guess you know me better than I thought.” 

“You deserve better than that,” Aaron says, not for the first time. “I’ve said that from the beginning.” 

“I know. Maybe getting pummeled in the face was actually a blessing in disguise” A wry grin twists over her lips. 

Aaron is less amused. “That’s not funny. You know he could have -” 

“I know, _Aaron_ ” she sighs, not in the mood to be reminded of just how bad it _could have_ been. 

He stays silent, his mouth pressed into a thin line, as if he has something to say but can’t form the words. 

“There’s something else …” Emily says before she can talk herself out of it, the words spilling out of her faster than she can form them. “When I said I didn’t … need you …the other day ... I think I made a mistake. That’s not what I … that’s not what I meant, and I don’t -” She stops mid ramble, pressing her fingers to her lips before gathering her composure. 

_Good god, Emily_ , she chastises herself, embarrassed at her sudden outburst.

Aaron is standing in front of her now - _when did he get up,_ she wonders - his body close enough she can practically feel the heat radiating off of him; see the vein in his neck starting to pulse. “What are you talking about?” It’s a rhetorical question at best. It needs no answer - it’s whatever they’ve been dancing around for the last few weeks. 

Emily blushes, her toe scraping the ground again, twirling her hair around her finger. “Don’t play coy, Aaron. You know exactly what I mean.” She sounds braver than she feels, and it’s only when she takes a shaking breath she realizes how fast her heart is beating in her chest.

He does. **“** _Emily_.” He’s looking at her like he’s reading her mind, his fingers closing around her upper arms gently, just tightly enough to keep her in front of him, and then he’s close enough to her Emily can feel him breathe. 

“This is a bad idea,” she warns, her voice barely audible, because once it starts again, there’s no chance she’ll be able to stop. “We shouldn’t.” 

“You’re right.” But instead of ducking away, Aaron pulls her to him, wrapping his arms around her back as his lips crash into hers. There’s nothing slow about this - she’s kissing him fervently, as if he might suddenly decide against it. Her arm winds around his neck possessively, fingers clawing at the collar of his button-down shirt as his mouth works over hers. 

Emily can’t remember the last time she’s been kissed this way - if ever at all. It’s better than all the other times he’s kissed her. He tastes like peppermint and cologne and something spicy; it’s overwhelming and makes her head spin. His teeth clash against hers, sinking onto her lip.

Aaron is dizzy; the scent of her intoxicating and all-consuming; there are traces of jasmine in her hair and on her skin. Emily cups his face with her hands and deepens the kiss, her tongue pushing past his lips and exploring into his mouth. She moans softly; a whimper escaping from the back of her throat. She’s thought of this exact scenario more times than she can count, yet it still nearly takes her breath away. The familiar ache between her legs becomes a throb, and when he pushes a knee between her legs she cries out, her hips starting to rock against his thigh. 

He lifts her up effortlessly, setting her onto his desk. Her knees part on either side of his hips, holding him between her legs as he pulls at her dress, pushing the straps down off her shoulders and bunching the fabric up to her waist. Emily arches her back instinctively, curling into him yet again.

Aaron’s hand dips between her legs, a groan emitting from the very back of his throat when he finds her dripping wet. “Emily,” he says quietly, his eyes searching hers. She lifts her hips just enough in an invitation, and when his fingers curl inside of her, and then press up with just the right amount of pressure, she whimpers right into his mouth. 

Her head falls back when his thumb glides over her clit before pausing once again. “What are you waiting for,” she breathes, pressing her forehead against his. He obliges willingly, one hand cupping the back of her head and the other working her over with unyielding precision. It’s dizzying, almost taking her breath away, and it’s been _so long_ since she’s actually enjoyed this it only takes a few minutes before the heat builds, higher and higher until she’s keening in his ear, seconds away from a climax. She’s _even closer_ when Aaron suddenly withdraws his hand and when he pulls away, she yelps without even realizing it.

“Don’t stop,” she whines, bereft at the sudden loss of his hand. “Why did you stop?” 

“I have a better idea,” he says huskily, pushing the abandoned stack of files on his desk off to the side, sending a few wayward papers to the floor. 

“What -” She’s cut off with a lush kiss as he slides her back to the edge of the desk. 

“Lay back,” he orders, quickly slipping his suit jacket off. She obeys and slowly settles on her back, watching him with hooded eyes while he balls up his jacket and slips it under her head, dropping a kiss on her lips on his way back down. He kisses the inside of her knees, first the left and then the right, before draping her bare legs up onto his shoulders. Emily bites her lip, the intimacy of being spread apart in front of him like this enough to send a shiver down her spine. She looks down in time to see Aaron’s dark head disappear between her legs, and any doubts she had vanish when his lips meet her skin. 

Emily trembles in anticipation, tentatively lifting her hips against his face, and he takes his time exploring her, spreading her open even more, kissing her everywhere except where she wants him. “I’ve been thinking about doing this for a while,” he murmurs before he finally caresses her from top to bottom with his tongue, starting to slowly work her over. His tongue is inside of her now, persistent and relentless, and her vision blurs when his lips lock around her clit. Her toes curl and calves tighten around his shoulders; her fingers pull on his hair.

“Oh my god,” she wails, reaching for something - anything - to hold on to as leverage. Her hands wrap around the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white as she starts to fall apart in hardly any time at all. He’s better at this than she’d ever imagined, practically devouring her as his tongue delves inside of her again, and it’s all so intensely good she can’t contain the moan that escapes from the back of her throat, or the one that comes immediately after, completely unchecked. Her spine arches off the counter as her legs start to shake, yet he clearly has no intention of stopping. Aaron seems to know exactly how to build her up and keep her there just long enough until she cries out his name, her hips canting against his face. 

“ _Aaron,”_ she cries again, completely oblivious to the fact that they’re _not_ in a wholly private place. 

“Shhh,” he breathes against her thigh, taking his mouth off of her for only a brief second. 

She glances down again, meeting his gaze, and that’s all she needs before she starts to shake. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that.” With one more stroke of his tongue she falls apart, her entire body convulsing on the desk as he continues with his mouth, and all she can do is ride it out as the waves of pleasure course through her body. Aaron slowly brings her back to earth, the press of his tongue easing, what was once deliberate ministrations are now gentle kisses. When he finally lifts his head, he looks incredibly pleased with himself, a handsome smirk beaming across his lips. 

She’s still on her back, breathing heavily, legs still spread apart around his shoulders. “God.” Her eyes are dazed and slightly glassy, her chest heaving. 

“Aaron is fine too,” he quips with a grin, unable to take his eyes off of her.

“Come here,” she reaches for him and pulls clumsily at his tie until he’s practically on top of her, settling between her legs easily. When his mouth is on hers once again, she can taste herself on his lips. It doesn’t faze her, and she licks the seam of his lips, teeth clashing against his. 

He’s fumbling with his belt and zipper as his teeth nip at the skin of her neck. She doesn’t care that it will most _definitely_ leave a mark tomorrow. Aaron is hard as steel in her hand, and when her fingers flex around him he tightens his grip on her hair. 

_“Fuck,”_ he’s panting into her neck, hard to the point of pain when the phone on his belt starts ringing. “Goddamnit,” he groans.

_“Ignore it,”_ she strokes him carefully with one hand, using her other to cover the phone. 

“I can’t,” he groans, his hips rocking into her hand. “I can’t just ignore a call.” 

“You can,” she coaxes him, wrapping her other leg around his hip just above his gun. If only he would just _move_ a few inches. She licks into his mouth once again, kissing him hungrily, grinning when he moans again. “No one’s going to come looking for you here.” 

_She’s right - it’d be too easy. Too obvious._

His pants are down past his hips when the phone starts ringing for a second time **.** “Damnit,” he mutters, pushing her hand away and fumbling at his belt for the phone, flipping it open, staring at the tiny screen. His face falls. 

“Emily, I have to go,” he looks at his watch. “I’m getting called to the South entrance.” He looks regretful. “It’s an emergency.” 

With a frustrated sigh she pushes him away from her, but he’s already scrambling to find his jacket. “What the fuck,” she grumbles, reaching for the tissue box on his desk. 

“I’ll try my best to make it back,” he repeats, clearly flustered, tucking his shirt back into his pants and reaching for his jacket. “I’ll find you.” Aaron pulls her to a seated position and kisses her once more. He’s gone within seconds, rushing out the door without as much as a look back. 

She shoves her arms back into her dress and pulls the material down over her knees, her body numb and flushed with a trace of shame, her shoulders tense with embarrassment. “Don’t bother,” she mumbles, but it’s too late, because he’s long gone. 

  
They always leave. Maybe he _is_ no different after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 16 coming soon!


	16. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In case it isn’t blatantly obvious, I’m working.” “I haven’t forgotten,” Emily hums. “Nothing wrong with taking a little break.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all - thank you again for all your comments, kudos, etc. Reading them all makes my day. I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who was like “finally” during last chapter - it’s been a long time coming, but they’ve barely gotten started. This chapter is also rated M. As always, enjoy!

**Chapter 16: I Won’t Disagree** :

_Ignorance is bliss, you’d always hear me say. But at times you can’t deny those eyes looking your way._ _Let me begin by saying what I mean. It’s a crime against the heart, you know, to be somewhere in between._

“He did _WHAT_?” Allison shrieks so loudly Emily wants to slap her. As long as she’s known her, Allison has never been very discreet. “On his fucking _desk_?!” 

“ _Allison!”_ Emily glances around the garden nervously, searching for any questioning ears that might be privy to their conversation. Of course there aren’t any, but one can never be too careful. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.” She dips her hand in the fountain with a little extra force, splashing her friend on purpose. 

They’ve been laying outside in one of the well-manicured gardens all morning, but only now does the story come out, and it’d taken nearly every trick in Allison’s book for Emily to spill anything. 

“Shouldn’t have said anything? Emily, this is the best thing I’ve heard all week.” Allison’s green eyes are practically sparkling with excitement as she bats away water droplets. “Besides, it’s not like I’m getting any. I have to live vicariously through _someone_.” 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that right?” 

Tell me everything. Well, not everything - but you know what I mean.” 

“It’s really nothing,” Emily attempts feebly, but it’s not worth the breath to lie. It’s far from nothing at this point, but whatever it is, she can’t even begin to explain. She’s still barely processed the entire thing herself, let alone talk about it with someone else.

“It’s not _nothing_ ,” her friend says incredulously. “That’s like … the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.” She claps her hands together with glee. “On his _desk._ Like the one he works at.” She grabs Emily’s arm and squeezes. “Was he any good?” 

Thinking about him sends a rush of heat to her lower stomach and an ache between her legs. Even though she’s annoyed, she can’t deny the fact that she’d do it again in a second. “ _Yes,_ Allison, he was good.” Emily pushes a piece of hair behind her ear. “But he left literally seconds after and I haven’t seen him since.” 

“It’s been what? One day? He was also working,” Allison points out, as if stating the obvious. “He kind of has to go when they need him, right? Maybe you should give him a chance, you know, like I’ve been telling you to. He clearly has _some_ good qualities.” 

Emily laughs dryly. “When has that ever actually worked out?” 

“I don’t know, Em. He seems to be a pretty decent guy, all things considered. In more ways than one.” She smirks; Emily slaps her playfully. 

“Something tells me that’s not the best idea you’ve ever had,” Emily muses and she wishes she could push him out of her mind, but the only thing she sees when she closes her eyes is his head between her legs. 

Allison shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, obviously don’t fall in love with him, Em. That would be problematic for sure, considering the last few weeks. But I guess there’s nothing wrong with a little rendezvous. Think about it as getting back in the saddle.” 

“I don’t fall in love, Allison. You know that.” Emily curls her legs to her chest, staring at her reflection in the ornate fountain. 

“Jesus Christ, Emily. I hate when you say that.” Allison leans back on her chair. “You sound like a depressing shrew.” She then sits up suddenly. “Is it going to happen again?” 

She shrugs. “Does it even matter?”

“I guess not to you. Seriously though, what will happen if anyone finds out? Holy shit, what if your mom finds out? Could it get him _fired?”_

“Probably,” Emily murmurs, and from her place in the garden she can just discern two figures in the distance, coming closer to them. _Aaron, and someone else who looks like Shane, are walking in their direction._ “Just drop it. We can talk about it later. And for the love of God, please don’t make it obvious that I told you.” 

“Is that him?” Allison shields her eyes from the sun and follows Emily’s gaze, resting on Aaron, who is clearly getting closer and closer to them. “What does he want? Is that _Shane?”_ Allison suddenly perks up, and Emily fights the urge to roll her eyes. 

“Who knows,” she retorts, a slight touch of annoyance in her voice. She stretches out on the ground, pretending to tan herself under the relentless summer sun, tensing when she finally hears the scratch of shoes against the cobblestone pathway.

Emily sits up just in time to see them both mere inches away from their chairs, and she’s grateful she’s not the one wearing a full dress suit in the midst of the 90 degree heat. She’s wearing far less than that.

_Let him stare_ , she thinks, with a satisfied purse of her lips.

“Ladies,” Aaron says politely, nodding his head in a greeting while walking purposefully toward the other end of the garden as Shane offers a friendly wave in their direction. 

“Agent Hotchner,” Allison says coyly. “Hi Shane.” 

This time Emily rolls her eyes deliberately in Allison’s direction before turning her attention back to Aaron. “What are you doing?” She eyes them with suspicion, wondering what would prompt them to show up _here_ in the middle of the day. _Unless they don’t really have a reason._

“Checking the fountains in all of the landscaped areas. It’s just routine.” From his pocket he pulls a small box of chemicals, rolling up his sleeve before bending down. 

“We have maintenance people for that,” she says with disinterest, casually adjusting the top of her bathing suit. 

“We go where they tell us,” Shane offers pleasantly, his eyes lingering on Allison, and Emily fights the urge to roll her eyes again.

“Don’t you have more important matters to attend to?” 

“Maybe at the South Entrance?” Allison cuts in sarcastically with a less than graceful snort, and it takes all of Emily’s patience not to smack her. 

“I beg your pardon?” Aaron looks up from his position on the ground, glancing between Allison and Emily, then Shane, looking uneasy. “Did I miss something?” 

Allison opens her mouth, clearly another wisecrack brewing when she’s cut off. “Don’t listen to her,” Emily says quickly, shooting her friend a withering stare. “She was just leaving.” 

“I’m going to get a snack,” Allison announces, rising dramatically and winding her red hair into a messy bun on the top of her head while reaching for her coverup, making sure to show off her lithe figure before turning back to Emily. “I’ll bring something down for you.” 

“I’m not hungry,” Emily retorts, wishing all three of them would just leave her alone at this point. Allison is annoying her, she doesn’t know what to say to Aaron, and Shane is starting to look suspicious. _Fan-fucking-tastic,_ she thinks with a groan. 

“I’ve been here since this morning, and you’ve barely eaten all day,” Allison points out, eyes shifting between them both. “You’re going to pass out if you don’t. What do you want?” 

Emily rolls her eyes, taking a sideways glance at Aaron, who now has a disapproving look on his face. “Whatever you bring back is fine.” 

Shane suddenly glances at his watch. “I’ll walk with you, Allison,” he offers, just a little too excited. “I have a meeting in the security office in ten minutes.” 

_How convenient,_ Emily thinks, suddenly more aware of her lack of clothing as she sits up fully on her chair. Yet Aaron doesn’t appear to be ogling her, as she expected him to. He’s watching Allison and Shane make their way back towards the house, with an amused look on his face. 

“Something I should know about over there?” 

“I know nothing,” he says innocently, holding up his hands.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Emily says sarcastically before adding, “I’ll find out eventually. Subtlety isn’t her strength.” 

“Makes sense.” Aaron moves closer once Allison and Shane are far enough away, sitting in the empty chair beside Emily. “She’s right, you know.” _Now_ he’s staring, even though he’s trying not to, and Emily fights the urge to smirk. He _still_ has that look on his face - the semi concerned look she’s gotten to know so well, except this time it’s mixed with something else. 

_Attraction._

“What?” She asks, annoyed, folding her arms over her chest. 

“You _will_ pass out if you don’t eat.”

“I ate earlier.” She isn’t sure what else to say, and her hands shake as she slips her coverup over her head. “I didn’t expect to see you today, all things considered.” 

An awkward silence falls over them and Aaron coughs into his fist, eyes on his shoes. 

“I’m sorry about that,” He speaks after a few moments, looking almost guilty. “There was a ... a security breach at the South entrance. They needed someone with experience, and I was the lucky pick.” 

“It’s your job, Aaron. Of course you had to go.” Emily smooths her hair over her neck, exposing her bare shoulder. She’s surprised at how guilty he looks; and at how easily her annoyance with him fades. Glancing up at him, she can’t ignore the thought that comes into her mind. She may in fact be crazy. 

“I’m sorry I never made it back. It was bad timing,” Aaron offers tentatively, as if expecting her to lash out at him. 

Emily shrugs. “It was. But, now that you mention it, there’s something I want to propose to you.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Maybe we should even the score,” she says smoothly, and he damn near chokes on his own breath. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“If I recall, you didn’t give me a chance to …” she clears her throat. “How can I say this ...return the favor.” 

If he wasn’t on the clock, he would already have her on her back, and he shifts closer to her. “What did you have in mind?” 

Emily crosses one long leg gracefully over the other, a coquettish look in her eyes. “Well, I could think of a few things.” 

“Such as?” 

She suddenly pulls him down by the tie, winds one arm around his neck to bring him closer, and her lips are against his. It takes him by surprise, and she uses it to her advantage, pushing him down on his back and straddling his hips. 

_“Are you out of your mind?”_ From his position beneath her, his dark eyes start to glaze over, and she knows she’s won. There’s no way he can deny her now. 

“Not at all.” She rocks her hips over him teasingly, reaching for his hands and bringing them to her breasts. Even through the thin material of her coverup and her bathing suit, she can feel the heat from his palms. “Are you?” 

Aaron groans at the contact and gives a gentle squeeze. “In case it isn’t blatantly obvious, I’m _working_.” He can’t help the fact that his pants are getting extremely uncomfortable despite his best intentions. 

“I haven’t _forgotten_ ,” Emily hums in pleasure when his thumbs brush over her nipples. “Nothing wrong with taking a little break for a few minutes.” 

“Someone’s going to hear us,” his voice is strained, the vein in his neck is already throbbing, and Emily grins wickedly because his hands are starting to tremble. 

“We’re outside, Aaron.” Her head rolls back, exposing her neck, and all he wants to do is kiss her. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he chokes, already getting ridiculously hard when she shifts above him. “People are all over the grounds.” 

“Don’t make too much noise then.” She plants a line of kisses down his chest, her hands instantly going for his belt, pushing his pants down just far enough over his hips. 

“What about -“ his voice is gravelly, almost ragged. It’s becoming increasingly hard to concentrate when she’s doing _this_. “Allison and Shane?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, her delicate fingers flicking the buttons of his shirt. 

“Jesus Christ, Emily.” She’s going to kill him one of these days. 

Her dark hair curtains around her when she lowers her head, pulling the tails of his dress shirt up just far enough to smooth her lips over his lower stomach. He grabs at her shoulder, and she smiles against the taut skin. “Already, Aaron?”

He swallows hard, making a noise that’s somewhere between a grunt and a moan. Emily slowly reaches for his belt, working the buckle with careful precision followed by his zipper. His hands are gripping the arms of the chair, his eyes darting around nervously. 

“You’re not going to enjoy this if you don’t relax,” she purrs as she slowly flicks the button of his dress pants open. 

“Do you have any idea how _bad_ it will be if someone sees us?” It’s nearly impossible to keep his voice even, because she’s dangerously close to getting his pants off, and he’s thought too many times about this exact moment he has to blink to be sure he’s not hallucinating. 

“No one is going to see us, Aaron,” Emily murmurs confidently. Her small hand closes around him and his hips jerk reflexively. “Why do you think I come out here?” 

“I hope you’re - Fuck,” he groans when she leans down and runs her tongue along him. “Emily,” his breath is already ragged, and she’s barely even gotten started. 

“Good?” She circles her tongue over the tip of him experimentally, using her hand in time with her mouth, glancing up at him as he rocks his hips against her. 

“Christ,” he grunts. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Aaron presses his hand against the nape of her neck, guiding her gently as her mouth moves over his length. Not that he’s even slightly surprised, but Emily drives him insane. She laps her tongue over him, enjoying the reaction she gets from him, so she does it again. “Fuck, Emily,” he groans, and tightens his grasp on her hair. 

His hips thrust against her face; her throat is like a vice as she moves over him, her dark head bobbing over him in a rhythm that makes his vision fuzzy and his ears ring. He holds her head in place and she moans, sending a wave of pleasure through his body that pushes him dangerously close, and she seemingly has no intention of stopping anytime soon. She works him over until she feels him tense, the muscles in his legs starting to stiffen under her hands.

From her place on her knees, she glances up at him once again, wide eyed, her lips wrapped around him, and Aaron is certain he’ll never forget that image as his eyes roll back. 

“Emily, I’m going to -” He grabs the back of her head more forcefully than he intended, in a warning yet she takes him all the way down her throat with ease. He sees stars as his body shudders with release, spilling into her mouth helplessly in thick spurts. She doesn’t seem to mind, her mouth never stopping as he finishes to completion. 

When he finally stills, Emily releases her hold on him and drags her lips over his shaft, then traces her tongue over him until he stops panting. One hand is still in her hair, his other is grabbing at her shoulder again, searching for leverage as she finally sits back.

“Holy shit.” He glances down to find her demurely wiping her lips with the towel at her side, and then at the mess on his upper thighs. She then neatly tucks him back into his pants, carefully zipping and buttoning them as if nothing had ever happened. 

“Good?” She looks pleased with herself, her dark eyes sparkling. Her makeup is smudged, and her lips are red, her hair a mess. Even so, Aaron still thinks she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

“Fucking incredible,” he reaches for her, pulling her up by the shoulders. “ _You’re_ incredible.” Their lips seal together again, and he can taste himself on her lips and he doesn’t even care. 

He doesn’t miss the light flush of her cheeks at the compliment, and she busies herself with straightening the sheer fabric of her coverup over her swimsuit, rearranging her towel on the chair. “You should get back to work.” It’s as if she’s already forgotten about the fact that just moments ago, her mouth was wrapped around him. 

_As if he could even attempt to focus on anything else now._

Settling back on her chair and reaching for her magazine, Emily watches him from the corner of her eye, his hands stuffed in his pockets and the dark sunglasses hiding his eyes. He absently paces the garden, his feet scraping against the paved stones, pulling himself together as she sighs contentedly with her magazine as if nothing ever happened.

_This is starting to get complicated,_ he thinks, watching her through his sunglasses. _And this is just the beginning._

His thoughts are interrupted by the loud creak of the gate and Allison’s sandals smacking against the stones. “Em, I brought you some fruit,” she announces her presence loudly, balancing a large plate in her hands. “There wasn’t much left in the fridge.” She gives Aaron and Emily a suspicious look, and Aaron has to look away. 

“Thanks,” Emily says graciously and evenly, taking the plate from her friend as her stomach growls. She’s suddenly worked up an appetite, she thinks with a smirk. “This is perfect.” From the corner of her eye, Aaron gives an approving nod. 

“So … what did I miss?” Allison sinks back onto her chair, tipping her sunglasses down her nose. 

“Absolutely nothing,” Emily chirps casually, popping a strawberry into her mouth, eyes on her magazine. “Nothing at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 17 coming later this week!


	17. Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m here to see Emily Prentiss.”   
> “Who can I say is here?” She hadn’t mentioned any visitors.  
> “John Cooley. I’m an old friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we're at chapter 17! This is somewhat of an emotionally heavy chapter, just a warning! As always, enjoy!

** Chapter 17: Over My Head - Cable Car **

_Let's rearrange. I wish you were a stranger I could disengage. Say that we agree and then never change. Soften a bit until we all just get along_

“I’m here to see Emily Prentiss.”

Aaron does a double take when the tall, dark haired man in front of him presents his ID with an aloof, seemingly distant expression. He’s about her age, give or take, wearing a t-shirt and jeans that have seen better days. Yet whoever he is, he doesn’t look familiar, and something about him seems off.

“Who can I say is here?” She hadn’t mentioned any visitors - normally guests were added to the daily manifest ahead of time for clearance purposes - this is obviously a surprise visit. 

“John Cooley. I’m an old friend of Emily’s.” 

Aaron clears his throat authoritatively and plucks John’s driver’s license from his hand, checking it over with a cautious eye. He’s around her age, based on the date of birth, with a New York address. She’s never mentioned his name before, but then again, she hasn’t mentioned many of her friends at all.

“What’s the nature of your visit?” He hates the curiosity in his voice, because he shouldn’t care whatsoever. It’s none of his business, but security is his job, after all. _Keep telling yourself that, Aaron._

John blinks and cocks his head to the side. “Ah, it’s really important that I speak to her.” 

“Is Miss Prentiss aware of this?” _Miss Prentiss sounds so formal and not quite right considering what’s happened between them over the last two weeks, but then again, nothing about the situation in front of him feels right whatsoever._

“Ah, no...she’s not.” 

Aaron opens his mouth, about to object, when John cuts him off.

“It’s _really_ important I talk to her,” he tries again, running a hand through his hair. 

Aaron nods stiffly. “If you’ll just wait for a moment, I’ll let her know you’re here.” 

John gives a brief tilt of his head, pacing in a circle with his shoulders slumped forward as Aaron backs out of the room.

...

He finds Emily in one of the front living rooms, perched on the couch with her legs tucked beneath her, looking as if she hadn’t a care in the world, a magazine in her hands. She’s actually… _relaxed_ … for once, and he silently admonishes himself for the interruption.

“Hey,” she says brightly, a huge smile crossing her face when she sees him. She looks _beautiful,_ almost radiant, and there’s a slight tinge of guilt in his voice she doesn’t even notice as she tosses her magazine to the side. “I’ve been thinking … we should take a walk down to the gazebo later. If you’re … up to it.” She winks and his throat tightens at the implications of her words, _and_ the double meaning. 

It’s only when she sees his face that she stops, her smile fading. “What’s wrong?” 

“There’s a John Cooley here to see you.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, remaining in his place in the doorway. Something tells him she’s not going to take well to the news.

She’s instantly on her feet, fingertips pressed over her lips, suddenly much paler than she was moments before. Any trace of happiness immediately vanishes from her face, and she’s stark white. “What? What do you mean?” 

“You weren’t expecting any visitors?” _Her reaction instantly makes him nervous, and he automatically dislikes John more than he already did._

She shakes her head. “I...I certainly wasn’t expecting John,” Emily says slowly, as if his name is a foreign language on her tongue. Briefly rubbing her temples, she swallows hard, a pained expression on her face. “When did he get here?” 

“About five minutes ago. He’s in the front waiting room. I’ll take you to him.” 

“Did he say what he wants?” She pulls at her clothes nervously, drags her fingers through her hair. She quickly checks her reflection in the ornate mirror on the wall, looking around for her shoes.

“He said it’s important.” 

She says nothing but takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders, and he doesn’t miss the several inches of space she puts between them as they walk in silence down the long hallway.

…

“Hi, John.” _Why does she have to sound so goddamn exhausted?_

Emily goes rigid as John rises from the couch before she’s even across the room. He still looks exactly the same as he did five or so years ago in Italy - tall, dark, handsome with seemingly little effort. She’s instantly reminded of all the girls who fawned over him and how elated she’d been when he’d picked _her_ heart to gamble with, only to be tossed aside like trash a short time later. 

Except, John hadn’t picked _just_ her, as Matthew had gingerly explained to her as she sobbed in his arms with the positive test in her hand. There had been others - she just happened to be the most naive. 

Despite his still charming good looks, there’s something different about him now - too many lines on his face, clothes just slightly too loose, eyes gaunt. The years of wild partying, drinking, and who knows what else have started to catch up with him. _Maybe it’s starting to catch up with me, too,_ she thinks, as she gives him an awkward squeeze. 

“It’s good to see you, Em.” His hands linger on her for just a few seconds too long; she feels dirty under his touch. From the corner of her eye, she sees Aaron’s hand slide to his gun, taking a protective step in her direction. She does her best not to flinch in John’s arms.

“What are you doing here, John?” _Em._ She used to _love_ when he called her that. Now it just makes her nauseous. 

“Is there somewhere we can go and talk?” 

“We can go to my room,” she says awkwardly, even though the tiny voice in her head tells her it’s a bad idea. A quick glance in Aaron’s direction tells her he’s certainly not thrilled about it either, but he says nothing, stepping aside as they head towards the stairs. 

They’re alone too soon, with the door shut and she purposefully puts several feet of space between them both, then a few more for good measure. “What are you doing here?” 

“There was an accident,” he begins slowly, unable to look her in the eyes. 

_No. No. There’s only one reason why he’d be here, and she suddenly feels the urge to vomit._

“No, John,” she attempts words, yet chokes on most of them, and her body goes numb. _This isn’t happening._

“Matthew died, Emily,” John says, his tone heavy, and she wants to grab him and shake him.

Instead, Emily clamps her hand over her mouth, her legs starting to buckle but she catches herself in time before she hits the nightstand on her way down. “What? How,” she chokes, not fully prepared for the answer. _How did this happen? Does she even want to know?_

“Late last week.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, pacing back and forth, completely avoiding her burning stare. 

“ _How,_ John?” Emily presses him, despondent. “ _Tell me._ ” 

He turns away, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

“ _John.”_

He struggles to meet her eyes. “They say it was an overdose. X. Found him at his parents’ house in New York. In the swimming pool.”

She swallows angrily as tears burn her eyes and her heart twists, pounding so hard it might beat right out of her chest. She’s suddenly feeling nauseous and dizzy, the room starts to spin. “Who told you?” 

“Mrs. Benton called me two days ago.” 

_Of fucking course she did, Emily thinks bitterly. She’d never even think of calling me. She hates me._ “And you waited _this_ long to tell me?” 

“I took the next flight I could, Emily. I know how much he meant to you. I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”

Emily sinks to the floor of her room, ignoring John’s indifferent stare, resting her forehead in her hands. “I knew it. I _fucking_ knew it.” She wants to scream, to cry, to bang her fists against the floor or the wall. Throw something. But she can’t. Instead, she feels frozen, as if in a trance. “I always feared this would happen eventually.”

John sits beside her and reaches for her hand, and in that moment, she hates him more than she ever has. Emily pushes him away. “Get away from me, John.” 

He looks unaffected by her disdain. “Come on, Em. You knew Matthew had issues. He’s _always_ had issues. After you left it was even worse. He was a completely different person. I don’t know what happened with you two- he’s never told me - but _something_ happened. I’m not stupid. He never got over it.” 

Emily closes her eyes, willing herself not to cry. Of course this is her fault. 

She’s only seen Matthew once since the night he left her writhing in pain in her bed - three years ago in Europe. That last memory of him isn’t a good one - he’d been _so_ angry with her for overdosing, and for leaving without telling him what actually happened later that night, after he left. In fact, she’d gone three months in DC before even speaking to him after everything, and their friendship never recovered - just left in pieces. Another thing she’s managed to ruin. 

_It’s all my fault. Had I not left … this would have never happened._

_“_ Matthew was _so_ fucked up after you left, Em. We all knew something like this would happen sooner or later,” John says, inching towards her again. “You should have _seen_ him at the parties once you were gone. He went harder than anyone else. He was always going on about religion, too. It was weird. He changed.” 

“Shut up, John,” she says bitterly, staring at her knees. _It’s all my fault_. “He needed help. He shouldn’t have been at your _fucking_ parties. Or anywhere around you, for that matter.” 

“It was a question of when, not how. You know that, Emily. It wasn’t my fault, and you know that.” 

Before she can stop herself, Emily reaches over and slaps him across the face, _hard._ “It should have been you.”

“What the fuck,” John snaps, shockingly rubbing his jaw, an undeniable mix of hurt, shock, and anger flashing across his face. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? What the hell was that for?”

“You heard me loud and clear, John. It should have been you.” 

“What is _wrong_ with you, Emily? I came here to _talk_ to you about our fucking friend who _died_ \- the one you practically ignored once you left Italy - and _that’s_ what you have to say?” 

Emily draws a ragged breath, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. For what or whom she’s crying she isn’t sure - but she swipes them away with a shaking hand. “You don’t know why I left, do you?” 

“Your mom got reassigned last minute. That’s why my parents said.” He sounds too confident - like he knows all the answers, and it’s enough to make her want to scream. 

Emily laughs bitterly. “That was a _fucking_ lie. If you’re not smart enough to see that then you’re even more of an idiot than I thought you were.” 

He blinks. “I don’t underst-“ 

“I was pregnant, John.” The words are thick on her tongue, and it doesn’t feel right to say out loud. 

“What?” John looks genuinely confused before a look of dreadful realization spreads across his face. “You were … “

“It was yours.” For a brief moment, she feels the slightest touch of relief that he finally knows her secret. _Maybe you’ll finally know what it’s like to hurt the way you hurt me._

John looks incredulous, a mix of anger and shock blending across his face. “You’re joking.”

“Why would I joke about something like this?.” 

“You were _pregnant_?” 

“For almost four months.” She can _still_ feel the small bump she’d kept hidden underneath her clothes - only she’d known it was there, but it was there nonetheless, a reminder of every poor choice she’d ever made, every choice that carried a painful consequence. 

“And you’re sure it was mine?”

“I wasn’t sleeping with anyone else,” Emily bites back. “You know that.” 

“So what happened?” It’s a rhetorical question - the look in his eyes tells her he knows _everything._ Of course he does. “ _You_ wouldn’t do _that_.”

Emily bites her lip, wishing she didn’t feel as guilty as she does. “I had no other choice. Matthew … he. He knew what to do.” 

John scoffs, a knowing look in his eyes. “Yeah, let me guess. Matthew saved the fucking day like he always did.” 

“He went with me.” Emily lifts her chin, daring him to challenge her further, and there’s no denying the flash of hurt across John’s face, and it feels almost _satisfying_. “How did you … how did you know? Did he tell you?” 

He scoffs. “Lucky guess. Matthew would have never betrayed your trust, Emily. We both know that.” 

She ignores the bubble of sadness in her chest threatening to spill over into her heart. Her secrets were always safe with Matthew - he took them to his grave. “It was my choice, John. I’ve never regretted that choice.” 

“You should have at least told me, Emily.” 

“And say what? Hey … you knocked me up drunkenly at one of your _fucking_ pool parties and now I’m pregnant?” She narrows her eyes, laughing bitterly. “That would have gone over _real_ fucking well.” 

“You owed it to me.” 

“I owed you nothing, John. You made it _abundantly_ clear then that you wanted _nothing_ to do with me unless I was flat on my back on the ground,” she bites, almost enjoying the shame in his eyes, how he hangs his head and stares at the floor. She’s always wondered how this conversation would go - if she’d ever relish in the fact that for once, she had power over him. Instead, she just feels sick. 

He’s saying something about choices, and making it work, and some other drivel she just doesn’t care about. She just can’t listen to him anymore. 

“It was the right choice and you know it, John. Neither one of us could have ever handled a baby. We were _fifteen_ years old.”

“And that’s why you left?” 

“Indirectly, yes.” She decides _not_ to tell him the second piece of the story, because that would just give him _more_ ammunition, and she’s about to tell him to leave when the voice from behind her stops her in her tracks. 

“ _Emily.”_

_Oh no_. 

When she turns her head, Elizabeth Prentiss is standing in the doorway, wearing an expression that tells Emily she heard their entire exchange - every last bit of it. 

“Is this true?” The Ambassador’s eyes pass from Emily to John as realization spreads across her face. “Tell me,” she says icily, her face a shade paler than usual, her fingers pressed to her lips. “Is it true?” 

“Mother,” Emily cringes, and her room has never felt more suffocating. “What are you doing here?” 

The Ambassador doesn’t answer, silently admonishing her daughter with just a glare. John stares between the two of them, his discomfort clearly evident, and Emily feels a fleeting moment of satisfaction. The elder Prentiss purses her lips, staring at both of them. “I should have known. The night you … _that_ night,” she trails off, turning pale. “Oh, God.” 

Emily stares between her mother and John, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe. “Mom,” she attempts weakly, her head starting to pound. 

“How could have you been so stupid? So careless and reckless and cavalier? _Both_ of you.”

“Don’t bring John into this, Mother.” Not that she cares a bit about him, but it’s not even worth it now.

“Somehow, Emily, you’re going to ruin your life one of these days, and it’s going to cost not just you but the people around you too.” Elizabeth’s voice is cold, her eyes even more so. When she meets her mother’s stare, it’s like looking in a mirror.

“Mom,” Emily begins as her mother turns sharply, the sound of her shoes clicking on the marble diminishing as she gets further and further away. “ _Mother_!” 

“That’s it, Emily. Keep fucking up every relationship you have. Pretty soon you’ll have no one,” John sneers. “Matthew was smart to cut you off when he did. Maybe that’s the one smart thing he did.” 

“You son of a bitch,” Emily snaps through clenched teeth. “I think it’s time for you to leave, John.” 

“Not until we -” 

“Is everything alright in here?” 

She’d know _that_ voice anywhere.

Aaron is a few feet away from the door, his hand resting protectively on his gun and his mouth pressed into a thin line. Even if he heard any of their exchange, he looks completely unflappable, stoic and stern, yet his eyes are full of concern. Part of her wants to tell him to leave, to spare himself from the inevitable shitshow that is her life, the other part of her wants to hug him for even knowing to show up in the first place. 

“Yeah, we’re good,” John says, not even looking in Aaron’s direction. 

“Actually we were just finishing.” Emily’s voice is cold, emotionless, her arms crossed across her chest. “ Agent Hotchner will escort you out, John. Have a safe trip home. Call before you show up next time.” She can’t bring herself to even look at Aaron, who is already at John’s side, a hand on his elbow. 

“This way, Mr. Cooley.” Aaron’s voice is even and calm, almost pleasant, and she would have laughed at the absolute pathetic look on John’s face if she weren’t so utterly mortified. 

Emily listens to their feet shuffle down the stairs then scrape across the marble floors until the main entrance door slams shut. 

When he’s finally gone, she throws herself onto her bed and screams into the pillows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! See you soon for chapter 18!


	18. Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the places she shouldn’t be, his apartment tops the list.
> 
> Aaron and Emily from the early days of him working for the Ambassador, and onward to present day. Chapter 18.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is 18, a few days early according to my posting schedule. TW for mentions of overdose, drug use apply to this chapter. As always, enjoy!

**Chapter 18: Bleeding Out** : _When the day has come, but I’ve lost my way around. And the seasons stop, and hide beneath the ground. When the sky turns gray, and everything is screaming, I will reach inside just to find my heart is beating._

Of all the places she shouldn’t be, his apartment tops the list. Yet it’s exactly where she finds herself a few hours later, standing in the threshold of his apartment building, the rain beating down onto her shoulders relentlessly with seemingly little reprieve. 

Emily looks embarrassed when he comes to get the door, her eyes wet and makeup streaked. There’s no way to hide the conflicted expression he wears when she lowers the hood of her jacket, dark hair spilling over her shoulders.

He’s momentarily puzzled - _how did she even get his address?_ But it’s Emily, and she has her ways.

“I take it no one knows where you actually are.” Aaron immediately reaches for the work phone in his pocket, starting to dial a number for the Ambassador’s Security office. Surely this isn’t a planned trip- they’re probably already looking for her. “How did you get here?” 

“Allison.” She kicks the ground with the toe of her shoe, unable to look at him as she sends drops of water flying. “Please don’t make that call. They can’t know where I am.”

“Is that how you got here? Did she drive you?” 

“Yeah.” Emily shoves her hands in her jacket pockets, fingers wrapping around her cigarettes. “She shouldn’t have … she got her license taken away a few months ago.” 

He briefly closes his eyes, doing his best to keep his expression neutral. “Emily, if anyone finds out you’re here …” He trails off, because they both know the implications and consequences _that_ would bring. 

“No one is going to find out if you don’t say anything. My mother doesn’t care where I am, anyway. No one’s going to ask around.” 

“They could!” It comes out just a bit more forcefully than he’d intended, and he instantly regrets it when she flinches, taking a few precautionary steps backward into the rain, looking as if she’d been slapped. He softens his tone. “I could lose my job for this.” It’s true - if she’s missing, and they found her there, it would raise _all_ kinds of questions. Even so, the lack of propriety is the least of his concerns, because she looks like fresh hell - pale, her eyes red, her hair a mess thanks to the rain. 

She looks around helplessly, but there’s nowhere to run. “I can’t be in that house, Aaron. Not tonight.” It’s then she breaks apart, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking, and she can’t suppress the tears anymore. 

He doesn’t say anything, but swiftly pulls her into his arms and wraps her in, holding her against him. When she’s certain he won’t let go of her, Emily tightens her fingers around his shirt and cries uncontrollably into his chest. Deep sobs rack her body; she clings to him and he strokes her hair gently, lips against her head, until her breathing returns to a semi-normal, staccato pattern of hiccups. 

“Your shirt,” she says softly, staring at the wet spots and dark streaks that have now stained his once pristine grey t-shirt. 

“Don’t worry about it. I have more.” He’s still holding her because she’s still shaking. “Come on. Let’s go inside,” he murmurs into her hair, ushering her through the door and down the narrow hallway of his building. Emily swipes at her nose quickly, her sleeve stained with makeup. 

Through her glassy eyes she looks around his apartment with curiosity. It’s austere, somewhat small, and as she expected, neat as a pin. It’s basic - living room, kitchen, small hallway leading to the bedroom. A few pieces of furniture, the bare essentials. Shoes lined up neatly at the door, his jacket hanging on a hook. It’s the exact opposite of the Ambassador’s opulent mansion, and there’s little evidence of anyone actually living here - she doesn’t see any photos or personal touches. It’s just … there. 

He takes her wet jacket and presses something into her hands - a glass of water - as she sits down on the couch, perching on the very end. 

Taking a sip, she wrinkles her nose. “Do you have anything stronger?” What she wouldn’t do for some vodka and a cigarette. Maybe later. 

“I have whiskey.” 

“That’s fine.” 

“Drink the water first.” 

She rolls her eyes but drinks the water albeit slowly, and he brings her a glass of the dark liquid once the other glass is empty. She’s not a fan of it - it burns when it goes down - but after a few sips her hands finally stop trembling. “Thanks.” 

There are a few moments of silence - each of them gathering their respective thoughts, yet Emily’s reticence isn’t a surprise to him at all. She could sit there all night in silence if she wanted to. Yet she clutches the glass, taking a few sips here and there, biting her lip in between. 

Aaron sits next to her and brushes a piece of hair from her face before he can stop himself. “I’m sorry about what happened today.” 

“Don’t be.” There’s defeat laced in her voice. With a sideways glance she adds, “I take it you heard everything.” 

He shakes his head; thankful he doesn’t have to lie to her. “I heard yelling. That’s it. I think you underestimate how heavy the doors are.”

She nods, grateful for that small favor. “How did you know... to come up?” 

Aaron gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Your mother, actually.” 

“She told you?” She looks equal parts alarmed and mortified, and not for the first time, Aaron wonders what she isn’t telling him. 

He shakes his head. “We were going over security protocol for an event next week. We heard the noise, she went upstairs. I followed her after a few minutes when she didn’t come back down, just to be sure. She was already gone by the time I got there.” 

Emily nods slowly. “I shouldn’t have ever let him come up. I know better than that.”

“Had I known … I wouldn’t have even let him past the front doors.” 

“You had no way of knowing, Aaron.” She stares at the whiskey, swirling the liquid around the cup before setting it on the table. It’s already giving her a headache, which isn’t surprising, considering how little she’s eaten today. Despite that, the thought of food makes her stomach lurch. “You were just doing your job.” 

He looks guilty; maybe coming here was a bad idea in the first place. _He’s dealt with enough of your bullshit, Emily_ , she thinks with regret. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I don’t know.” She picks at the hem of her sleeve to occupy her hands. “You don’t want to know the truth.” Emily glances away, unable to look him in the eyes.

“I doubt that.” It’s the way he says it - reassuring, calming - that makes her hands freeze, her eyes still on her lap.

_He does care. He’s always cared. More than anyone else, at least._

“You can tell me,” he says softly. He’s serious, his eyes non-judging, yet she just can’t form words. 

Even if she did, she wouldn’t know where to start. “Not yet.” 

Aaron backs off. “Okay.” He then pours himself a glass of whiskey and she puts the television on for background noise. It’s mindless entertainment, cheap laughs and takes little mental energy to sit with her eyes glued to the screen, taking intermittent sips of the drink in her hand

Emily inches closer to him on the couch every few minutes until she’s curled against his shoulder. This whiskey makes her eyes heavy; the safety and warmth of his body beside hers is enough for her to finally - _finally_ \- relax, and after an hour, she breaks the silence.

“Today was such a mess.” It’s almost inaudible but it’s something. “A total _fucking_ mess.” 

“What happened?” He has to tilt his head to hear her. 

She puts several inches of distance between them, sliding back as far away from him as she can. 

“Who is he?” He tries again, and she hugs herself tightly, shivering, reaching for the blanket on the back of his sofa. 

“John is an old friend of mine. From Italy.” She shakes her head in correction, a strange look crossing her face. “ _Friend_ is actually a loose definition.” 

“Acquaintance?” 

“Fuck buddy might be a better word.” 

Aaron says nothing, pressing his mouth in a thin line. 

“Our parents worked together … I forget what his father did exactly… but we spent a lot of time together while I was there, along with our friend Matthew. We were so young - and there were no limits to what we could get ourselves into.” 

_She’s still so young,_ he thinks, reaching for his own glass and taking a sip because now it’s not just her hands that are shaking again. 

“John used to throw these big parties at his parents’ villa when they weren’t home,” Emily closes her eyes briefly, remembering the warm Italian summer air with Matthew at her side, yet she’d only been looking for John. “We’d drink and smoke… there were a bunch of us,” she remembers it clear as day despite how drunk she’d been at the time. “It was exhilarating. It was like … I felt alive there.” 

Aaron wants to touch her; reassure her, because the look on her face darkens from whatever is playing out in her mind. Yet she seems to sense his intentions and wraps herself into a ball, curling her knees to her chest and hugging them, slowly rocking back and forth. 

“John was every girl’s endgame. No matter what an absolute dick he was, we all wanted him.” Emily sniffs with contempt. “And being the ass that he was, well …we all believed him at least once.” she trails off, heat rising to her face. “Well, I was the lucky one dumb enough to continually fall for his shit.” 

“You’re not dumb,” Aaron says kindly, yet she just shakes her head with a biting laugh. 

“I wonder just how many girls he fucked in that _stupid_ pool house.” Emily forces herself to keep her eyes open and on him, because if she closes them, she’s flat on her back again on the damp ground. “Anyway, it happened a few times, whenever we’d … _hang out_ ... “she struggles to find the right words. “And each time I hated myself more because of it.” 

He doesn’t push her, yet the words are coming faster than her mind can process, and for the second time today, the secrets come pouring out. 

“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” she mumbles, her cheeks turning red as she winds her fingers around the fringe of the blanket. “But one day I woke up and I just knew.” Her lips stretch in a thin smile. “I got pregnant,” she adds unnecessarily, because he’s already figured that part out. 

“Emily,” he begins, trying to sound more assuring than he feels, his throat dry. All he wants to do is pull her into his arms. 

“I couldn’t keep it,” she says thickly, choking on the words that suddenly sound so _wrong,_ so _immoral_ \- everything he isn’t, and she suddenly feels more shame than she did on the day she found out she was pregnant. It makes her feel almost sick. “Obviously I couldn’t … there was no way. My mother would have … she would have _killed_ me. I couldn’t tell her.” She watches his face carefully, searching for judgement or disgust, but it’s not what she finds. 

_Compassion? Understanding? A touch of sympathy?_ She can’t tell, but she isn’t sure she even wants to know what’s through his mind. 

“I got rid of it.” 

He only nods, and while every part of her wants to stop and run, she keeps going, because the words are spilling out faster than she can think. 

“Matthew went with me … He found the doctor and everything. He took care of me,” she says softly, her voice cracking. “Before and after,” she adds, swiping a single tear from her eyes. “When it was happening, he held my hand and tried to distract me. It didn’t work, but he tried.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s hard to be distracted from something like that.” Emily shudders, because she’ll never not remember that day, no matter how hard she tries. She remembers every detail, every nauseating second. “He saved my life. He saved my life and now he’s gone and I … I never got to … he’s gone.” She fights for air, a deep breath feels impossible, the words feel heavy and wrong on her tongue. 

“It sounds like he was a great friend,” Aaron says sympathetically. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting _this_. “I’m so sorry, Emily.” 

“Up until yesterday, the only person who knew about this was Matthew. Allison too, obviously. But I never told _anyone_ else.” Emily sniffs. “That’s how it was supposed to stay, but then John showed up. He made me _so angry_ , but he’s right. The way he talked about Matthew. I wanted to hurt him right back.” 

“So, you told him.” 

She scoffs. “Yeah. Not the smartest idea I’ve ever had, clearly.” 

Aaron reaches for her hand, giving a gentle squeeze. “Maybe he needed to hear it.” 

She rests her head in her hands, pressing her fingers into her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. It’s my fault Matthew died.”

“Don’t say that,” Aaron says quickly. “ _None_ of this is your fault, Emily. Addiction is a slippery slope. Matthew needed help. Nothing you did, or didn’t do, would change that.” 

“He was _so_ messed up. We _all_ were,” she adds. “But I can’t help but think I’m the reason why all of this started in the first place.”

“All of what started?” 

_He has no idea about the rest,_ she realizes. The real reason why she left Italy in the first place. Why she’s even sitting there in front of him now. “There’s something else you should know.” Emily swallows, resting her chin on her knees, playing with the hem of her jacket sleeve.

_Of all the secrets, this might be the one he’s the most unprepared for._

“I took a bunch of pills the night Matthew left.” 

Aaron blanches, swallowing hard. “On purpose?” He looks like he’s been punched.

“Depends on who you ask.” 

“I’m asking you, Emily.” For the first time his tone is stern, so much so it makes her stiffen. 

She hesitates but stares him squarely in the face. “I wanted the pain to stop.” Her voice cracks; he isn’t completely certain what pain she’s referring to and isn’t sure he wants to know. 

“And then?” 

“I don’t remember,” she whispers. “I woke up in the hospital. My mom was there … she was _so_ angry. You’d think she would be worried or concerned. In some way … in her own way … I think she was, but you never know with her. She could barely look at me.” She lowers her head, brushing a few tears from her cheeks. “I disappointed her.” 

“I’m sure it was more complicated than that.” 

“I guess watching your own daughter get her stomach pumped isn’t something you want to remember.” 

_It’s an image he’d choose not to think about, either._

“We flew home two days after that. Back to DC. My mom left her post in Italy for us to come back here. I remember things were tense for a while, because everything was so up in the air with her postings and what would happen. Somehow, they worked it out so she could keep her position thanks to Senator Seymour, and instead of moving every few years, stay in D.C.”

“Tom’s dad,” Aaron says softly, his tone understanding, and it all makes sense.

“That’s why I stayed with Tom for all this time. I couldn’t have disappointed her again. She never would have forgiven me. Not that she ever did the first time.” 

“You’ve never talked to her about this? Any of this?” 

Emily laughs bitterly. “Have you _met_ my mother? She doesn’t talk about _feelings,_ Aaron. She doesn’t acknowledge anything that would admit she was less than a perfect parent.” 

_She’s not wrong._

“I never got to say goodbye to Matthew. We just left. He didn’t even know about the pills until a year later when I saw him in Europe. I wasn’t going to tell him … but I did. He got angry, we fought. I think he was already using by then. I think me leaving really the way I did messed him up. What he saw _that_ day … I don’t know. I think it all changed him.” 

“I’m sorry Emily.” There aren’t many words of comfort he can offer her; nothing will make any of this easier. “About all of this. And I’m sorry about Matthew. I wish you would have had a chance to make your peace.” 

“Me too.” 

The words finally stop and there’s nothing left to say, a familiar silence falling over them yet again. Somehow, she’s managed to inch across his couch again, so her body is nestled against his, tucked safely into the space under his arm. His hand is soothing on her back, and she’s just so exhausted from _all_ of it that she can’t help but close her eyes, resting her head against him. 

“I’m so tired, Aaron.” It takes more effort to say those four words than it should, because her eyes are already starting to close. “So, so tired.” 

He takes the now empty glass of whiskey from her hand, setting it on the table and brushing his hand over hers, then his lips against her temple. 

She can’t hear his response, but it doesn’t matter, because she’s already asleep in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 19 coming soon!


	19. Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s momentarily confused about how she even got into his bed in the first place, but she’s soon cognizant enough to realize he must have carried her there himself.

**Chapter 19: Starman**

_ Then the loud sound did seem to fade. Came back like a slow voice on a wave of phase haze _

She doesn’t know how she got there, but when her eyes drift open several hours later in the middle of the night, she’s in an unfamiliar bed, definitely not her own judging by the hard mattress and flimsy pillows. The blankets around her are scratchy compared to the ones she’s used to. It takes a moment before she realizes where she is, and another few before she remembers she isn’t alone. Aaron is next to her, sound asleep and breathing deeply. His arm is flung lazily around her waist, and his body is curled against hers protectively.

She’s momentarily confused about how she even got into his bed in the first place, but she’s soon cognizant enough to realize he must have carried her there himself. She doesn’t remember falling asleep - the last thing she  _ does _ remember is telling him  _ everything,  _ a glass of whiskey in her hand.

Then it  _ all _ comes flooding back - the news about Matthew, seeing John, the argument that followed, her  _ mother _ overhearing the entire thing. She remembers it  _ all _ in perfect detail.

As her eyes fully open, she listens to the rustle of the trees in the wind, punctuated by a stray rumble of thunder here and there. He’s so close to her she can feel him breathe, and Emily resists the urge to run her fingers over his cheek. He looks so peaceful, so calm - so different from his everyday stoic, taciturn demeanor - that she can’t help but stare at him for a few quiet moments.

_ Damn him _ . Part of her wishes were just like the rest of them - a self absorbed asshole - but he’s not. He’s the exact opposite, and it scares her, unlike anything else.  _ He  _ scares her, in the strangest of ways. Emily has never needed - or wanted - to rely on anyone, for anything, and yet, she ended up at his apartment, hours earlier,  _ needing _ someone. And as much as she would  _ never _ choose to admit it, she needed  _ him.  _

And here she is now, in his bed, while he sleeps beside her.

_ And now he knows.  _ He knows everything, yet he had barely flinched as she revealed to him almost every secret she’s ever kept hidden. It wasn’t judgement she’d seen in his face as the truth came pouring out - in fact, the opposite. He’d listened to her with a quiet intensity she’s never seen from him before, his presence comforting, knowing when to ask questions and when to stay quiet. 

In any other scenario, she would have bolted immediately upon waking up and realizing where she was. But for some reason, she pulls the sheet up to her shoulder, being careful to make sure Aaron is still covered too, and her eyes drift shut when her head hits the pillows again. 

She’s too tired to think anymore, and as the rain hits the window, she’s lulled back to sleep, nestled against Aaron’s sleeping form. For some reason she can’t quite understand in her fatigue-laced haze, she knows it was the right decision.

...

When Emily opens her eyes again, she’s alone this time, and the rain that fell steadily all night is still going strong without any sign of letting up. She reaches her arms over her head, stretching lazily. It’s close to ten, according to the digital clock on the opposite nightstand on his side of the bed. 

_ Fuck _ . It’s late.

_ At least I’m not hungover _ , she thinks gratefully. For once, it’s nice to wake up without a splitting headache and a mouth that feels like sawdust. Even so, there’s a precautionary glass of water on the nightstand that wasn’t there a few hours ago.  _ He would _ , Emily thinks with a slight grin. She pushes the covers aside, swinging her legs over the side of his bed, and looks up to see him standing in the doorway.

“Oh hey - you’re awake.” Aaron looks boyishly handsome in his t-shirt and sleep pants, hair sticking up every which way, a second glass of water in his hand. “I didn’t hear you get up.” 

“Hi,” she says almost shyly, all of a sudden very much aware of her rumpled, messy hair, and she rakes her fingers through it in an attempt to look somewhat presentable. “How long have you been up?” 

“A while. I wasn’t sure how long you’d sleep. I didn’t want to wake you. Figured you needed some rest.” 

“Thanks. You could have woken me, you know. I’m sure you have a lot to do today....” Emily swipes at her eyes, glancing down at the Beatles White Album t-shirt and sweatpants she’s somehow acquired between last night and now, and then at her jeans and jacket folded on his dresser, her shoes tucked neatly nearby. “Did you… did you change my clothes? **”** She hadn’t noticed when she’d woken up the first time, but now it’s clearly obvious.

**  
** “I thought you might be more comfortable in something besides jeans.” He sits on the edge of his bed and tucks a mussed piece of hair behind her ear. “Sorry … I probably should have just woken you up.” 

“No no,” she says softly, running her fingers over the worn hem of the shirt. “It’s fine.” The shirt smells just like him; for a fleeting moment it reminds her of his jacket on her shoulders in Paris, back when things were much less complicated.  _ Before he knew what a mess you are. _ “I… I just … I didn’t realize I fell asleep on the couch.” 

_ I hope I didn’t do anything embarrassing, _ she thinks, glancing away from him. 

“You fell asleep on me, actually.”

“I did?”  _ What the actual fuck, Emily. First you cry on him, then unload every piece of emotional baggage you have, then fall asleep on him. Great.  _

“Yup. Drooled all over my shoulder, too.” He smirks, and Emily feels the color drain from her face. 

Mortified, she claps a hand over her mouth, only to see him struggling to suppress a laugh. 

“I’m teasing you, Emily. There was no drool.” He’s laughing, and in the gray morning light, with his hair tousled in his pajamas, she wonders what it would be like to wake up every morning next to him.  _ Don’t go there _ , she warns herself.

_ Too late _ . 

“What?” She chucks a pillow in his direction, which he blocks easily. “Fuck you!”

He swats the pillow back, and she holds it in her lap, a barrier between them. “You should have woken me up, Aaron.” 

“You were dead to the world. Couldn’t have woken you if I tried.” Aaron is clearly unfazed by it all, judging by the look on his face, as he watches her from his position beside her, without a care in the world.

“I would have at least slept on the couch.” 

The thought of him taking care of her - carrying her to his room, changing her clothes, tucking her into his bed - is a lot, and Emily finds herself swallowing yet another lump in her throat. 

“This couch? You’d throw your back out. It’s terrible. I really need to get a new one.” 

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have had to share your bed.” 

“I didn’t mind,” he tells her, and something in his voice tells her he means it. 

“You slept okay? You weren’t too cold or anything? He looks almost worried, and her heart twists in her chest for a moment.  _ He’s so goddamn attentive to everything.  _

“Just fine. I feel a lot better, actually.” It’s the truth - it’s amazing what a good night’s sleep will do. 

“Good.” He runs a hand through his messy hair, as if he has something to say but decides against it. “You hungry?” 

“I could eat,” Emily offers, surprised to actually feel her stomach growling. She can’t remember the last time she had real food - a piece of leftover cake yesterday hardly counts as a meal. His face narrows, and she suddenly feels intrusive, feeling like maybe she should leave. She shouldn’t even be here in the first place. 

“Is everything okay?” Emily wonders if he wants her to leave, and just can’t say the words. “I can go. I’m sorry for sleeping so late.” 

He shakes his head emphatically. “No - it’s not that. I just - I haven’t had much time to go shopping, and I don’t have a ton of food here.” He shrugs, gesturing towards the kitchen. “Things have been pretty busy lately.” 

“We could go get something,” she says tentatively, and instantly regrets it once she sees the look on his face. 

“Someone might see us … see you,” he shakes his head.  _ He’s right _ . He lives close enough to the Ambassador’s mansion that agents typically frequent the restaurants and bars on the streets by his apartment on their breaks and prior to shifts. That would cause instantaneous problems, especially because she never went home last night, and being seen with Aaron probably isn’t the best idea at the current moment. 

“Good point,” she returns softly, the events from the day before come flooding back again. She’s going to be in for it when she gets home. Her mother is going to tear her apart, she thinks with disdain. She makes a mental note to prepare for  _ that _ on her way home. 

“I can go pick something up. There’s a place down the street - do you like omelets?” 

“That’s perfect.” Emily rests back against the pillows and to her surprise, he leans over and kisses her, the shadow of stubble on his chin scratching against her cheek. He lingers over her, his forehead touching hers as he kisses her again before pulling away. 

“I left you some spare towels and a few things in the bathroom,” Aaron murmurs into her hair. “Thought you might want to shower. Take your time. You can stay as long as you’d like.” 

…

He returns half an hour later with a paper bag of takeout under his arm and two cups of coffee balanced in his hands. In that time she’s freshly showered and dressed, having put on her clothes from last night back on. She feels much better - nearly human again - and when he moves past her with the bags, he drops a quick kiss on her lips. 

“I can’t believe you don’t even own a coffee machine,” Emily teases as she takes the cups from him before they spill all over the floor. 

“I’m hardly ever here. I make my coffee at work.” He’s moving through the kitchen, gathering plates and silverware, setting everything down onto the small table in the corner. 

“What about on weekends?” 

He shrugs. “I get by without it. Like I said, I haven’t been here that much.” 

“What do you do in your spare time, then?” His apartment is so sparse - she’d briefly glanced around again this morning, and there’s little to no personal touches  _ anywhere _ . Nothing. She can’t even figure out his favorite sports team. 

“Work,” he says pointedly. “I’ve been looking into joining the FBI.” It comes out before he even knows what he’s saying, and he searches her face for a reaction. It’s not a lie - he’s been slowly doing some research - it’s a few steps above his current paygrade, but with a good recommendation and a few strings pulled, it could work. He didn’t want to bring it up, but he’d been in the middle of doing some research about careers in the bureau when she’d shown up at his door. 

“FBI?” She looks up, her interest piqued. “Are you thinking of leaving security?” 

“I don’t know,” he says, his tone softening. “I haven’t made an official decision.” 

Emily doesn’t miss the way his eyes wander when he says it, briefly drifting away from her.

Something tells her to drop it, so she doesn’t push it any further, and they begin to eat in a quiet, thoughtful silence.

...

“You really didn’t have to go to all of this trouble,” she says, setting her fork down, comfortably full. “You could have made toast or something.” 

“It wasn’t any trouble at all,” Aaron says as she finishes the rest of her coffee. “Good to see you actually eat something for a change.” 

She reaches for their plates and he pushes her hand away. “Leave the dishes, Emily. I’ll take care of it.” 

She blinks. “At least let me help you clean up.” She’s  _ definitely _ overstayed her welcome - it’s close to noon now, the rain is still rattling against the windows, and despite every bit of her wanting to stay with him all damn day, she  _ does _ have to get home, because her mother is just as impatient and persistent as she is, if not more. 

“I got it.” His hand closes around her wrist gently. “It’s two plates and some takeout boxes. It’s nothing.” 

Ignoring him, Emily makes a neat pile of their dishes and cups in the sink, turning the faucet on to give them a quick rinse. “It’s the least I can do.” When she turns around, he’s looking at her almost reverently, and it makes her chest hurt so much she has to look away.

He busies himself with crushing the takeout boxes and dumping the rest of the trash into the bag. “There’s some coffee left.” 

“You can finish it,” she murmurs, sliding the dishes into the dishwasher. “Thank you,” she stares at her bare feet. “For everything. Last night and this morning.” 

“You’re welcome.” He comes around the counter to stand before her, drawing her in, his hands spanning across her back, and she lifts her chin to meet his eyes. 

Emily has to stand on her tiptoes to reach his lips, meeting him in a kiss. It’s just enough to make her shiver, and when he pulls her closer, deepening the kiss, she lets him. He cups her face in his hands, kisses over her nose and then back to her lips, enjoying the feeling of her body flush against him.

“You taste like coffee,” she says, making a face when she pulls away, and he kisses the tip of her nose again in response. 

“So do you,” his hands slide around to the back of her neck, bringing her back into him for just one more moment. “So it doesn’t matter if I kiss you again.” 

When he does, she wraps her arms around his neck, gasping slightly when his hands slip under her jacket and shirt, caressing her back until she breaks apart from him before they get carried away.

“I should be getting back. My mother is going to go postal about all of this when I get home.” She should have left a long time ago, that much she knows. The Ambassador has probably been waiting since early this morning for her daughter to walk in, and if there’s one thing her mother  _ loathes _ , it’s waiting. 

“I can take you,” he says quickly, not envious of what she’s going to face when she gets home, and slightly glad he doesn’t have to witness it. “If we go at the shift change, no one will notice.” 

“You don’t think anyone will see you?” Emily silently chastises herself for putting him in this situation in the first place. It’s his day off, after all. He doesn’t need  _ anymore _ drama, specifically any of  _ her _ drama.

“If I drop you off at the side gate, it’ll be fine. No one’s there until after one, anyway. If you’re quick, you can slip in undetected. Do you have your key?”

“In my jacket.” She rests her head against his chest, and as she tips her head back to kiss him once again, she can’t help but wonder just how far this will go, and how long it will be until someone finds out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 20 coming later this week!


	20. Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What is it that you want, Aaron?” Her voice is low, almost a whisper.
> 
> “Are you really that naive, Emily? You really have no idea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Just a note .. this chapter is rated M.

Chapter 20: Tougher Than The Rest 

_ I’ve been watching you awhile, maybe you’ve been watching me too. Well somebody ran out, left somebody’s heart in a mess. Well if you’re looking for love, honey I’m tougher than the rest.  _

“Maybe you aren’t hearing me properly _ , _ Emily. The answer is no.” Elizabeth Prentiss’ lip curls with annoyance from her position behind her desk, staring down her nose at Emily. She clutches the pen in her hand with just a little too much force; her knuckles are white. Emily stiffens. Her mother would never say out loud  _ half _ the things that are going through her mind, yet somehow she doesn’t have to - ever. Emily always seems to know  _ exactly  _ what she’s thinking

“ _ Why _ do you have to be like this, Mother?” Emily practically spits the words - they’ve been arguing for the last thirty minutes about Matthew’s funeral, with no end in sight, because they’re both too stubborn to concede to the other. Emily  _ knew _ it was going to be an issue, and she bites her lip to avoid letting a string of expletives come out of her mouth. She wasn’t even going to  _ ask _ in the first place, but of course, she needed a hotel room, possibly a flight, if not a car, and  _ those _ things require some assistance. Financial assistance.

“Despite how you feel, Emily, I am your mother, and I do have your best interest in mind. I don’t think you attending the funeral alone is a smart idea, and I’m not going to just hand you five hundred dollars for you to do so.” Elizabeth wears a chilly expression, and sometimes it’s uncanny just how similar they look, especially when angry. How similar they  _ are _ , Emily thinks with disdain. “You always manage to find trouble, Emily. Or should I say, trouble always manages to find you.” 

“I’m not a  _ fucking _ child,” she hisses right back. “I’m nineteen years old.” 

“If so, then you should have the means to get yourself there,” Elizabeth tells her with just the smallest touch of satisfaction in her voice. “You can’t have it both ways.” 

Emily fights to remain calm, because her mother is pushing  _ every _ single one of her buttons right now. “If you had just let me live at Yale this summer, this wouldn’t even be a  _ fucking issue,”  _ she snaps. 

_ But then other things would be very different _ , she thinks, and her mind wanders to  _ him _ . 

“Watch your language.”

“ _ Why  _ can’t you just not make things difficult for once?” 

“Ask a friend to go with you. Surely you have plenty of them … you’re constantly traipsing around with them.” There’s disapproval in her tone, and Emily scoffs.

“Allison  _ can’t  _ go, Mother. I told you that.” Emily crosses her arms over her chest. Allison is the only person she’d even remotely consider asking. She’d already called her, but her friend had left for a week-long beach vacation yesterday, which completely slipped her mind. Allison had been  _ very _ drunk when she picked up the phone, and Emily didn’t bother getting into specifics. It wasn't worth it. 

“I don’t think  _ she  _ would be a good choice regardless if she could attend or not,” Elizabeth says coolly, her tone telling Emily her mother’s opinion of Allison. 

“You’re so rude, Mother.” 

“I’m not rude, Emily. I’m honest. There  _ is _ a difference” And with that sentiment, Elizabeth clears her throat authoritatively. It’s a dismissal in the clearest sense. “If you’re able to find someone to accompany you, we will talk again. If not, you’ll have to find a way to get yourself there.  _ Without _ using my money.” 

Emily feels tears prick the corners of her eyes like tiny needles and she’s suddenly hot, her face flushing with frustration and a hint of despair. She bolts out of the room - she can’t get away fast enough - and runs right into something firm and solid as she turns the corner. 

That something is a person.

“Watch where you’re going,” she snaps, eyes on her shoes. All she wants is to get away, to run to her room and scream into her pillow, but a pair of gentle hands are pressed against her shoulders, keeping her still, and a familiar voice is talking to her calmly. 

_ Aaron _ . Of course. She should have known. 

“Watch where you’re going,” she says again, this time a bit less harsh, but still wary.  _ What is he doing here?  _

“I should say the same for you,” Aaron says kindly, his hands still on her shoulders. “You almost took me right out.” He’s smiling at her, as if she’s the best thing he’s seen all day.  _ Maybe she is _ . But his expression quickly melts when he sees the look in her eyes, and his face instantly changes. He looks concerned, pulling away to look her up and down cautiously. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” she says quickly, wishing the floor could swallow her whole. “Fucking nothing.” 

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” He’s wearing that patient expression - the one she’s seen so many times - as if he has all the time in the world for her to get her shit together. “What’s going on?” 

“My mother can be a  _ fucking _ bitch sometimes,” Emily says dejectedly, crossing her arms over her chest. “I can’t stand her.” She turns, staring at the firmly closed door of her mother’s office, flipping her middle finger in the air. 

“You know she can’t see you, right?” Aaron has taken a step back, giving her some much needed space, as Emily rolls her eyes at him. 

“She knows how I feel about her,” Emily snaps.

It’s been two days since she’s seen him - the last time being the morning he dropped her off at the residence after spending the night in his apartment. She’d be lying if she said it  _ wasn’t _ still at the forefront of her mind. “What are you even doing here? Shouldn’t you be … off doing security things?” 

“Issue with one of the locks on the West balcony. I’m on my way there now. Or I was. Sounds like there was an argument?” 

“Something like that,” Emily mumbles.“She can never just make things easy.” She shoves her hands in her pockets, wondering if she should just  _ tell _ him the truth. It’s not like he won’t figure it out soon enough. 

“What happened?” He asks kindly, and judging by the way he’s looking at her, Emily can tell he’s resisting the urge to brush her hair out of her face.  _ Not here _ , she thinks.  _ There are cameras and people with wandering eyes and that would just add to my problems.  _

“Can we go somewhere else?” Emily asks reluctantly, shifting on her feet and taking a step away from him, putting more space between them. “I can’t talk about it here.” She glances back at her mother’s office once again. “I don’t know what to do.” It comes out a bit more desperate than intended.

“There’s an unused office down the hall,” he offers, checking his watch. “I have a few minutes.”

_ Of course he does. He always does _ . 

Emily pretends not to notice the fact that his hand is brushing against the small of her back as she shoulders the office door open. She flings herself onto one of the chairs once the door is shut, and rubs her temples with her fingers to staunch the looming headache. “Sometimes I don’t understand how we’re related.” 

“I take it this is about what happened the other day?” Aaron perches on the edge of the desk across from her. 

“The funeral is tomorrow,” Emily begins slowly. The word funeral makes her shiver.  _ Matthew _ ’s funeral. She shouldn’t even have to say those words. 

“I see,” he says evenly, and she can’t tell what he’s thinking. It makes her nervous, and she feels the need to keep talking in order not to cry. 

“I want to go. I  _ have _ to go. I owe it to Matthew.” She  _ hates _ how weak her voice sounds, but the thought of her friend still makes her lungs burn just a little bit more than she thought it would. “But I need a hotel room, and at the very least, a car to get there. She doesn't want me going alone.” 

“I can’t say I blame her.” Aaron narrows his eyes, and Emily rolls her own. 

“Seriously, Aaron?” She sounds more annoyed than she is. As much as she hates to admit it, they’re both right. It probably  _ isn’t _ the best idea, all things considered. Mrs. Benton certainly isn’t her biggest fan, and the thought of seeing John again is enough to make her want to vomit. 

“It’s too late to get a flight now, Emily,” he says rationally. “And driving … it’s far. A six hour trip easily, and that’s  _ if _ you don’t hit traffic. You’re looking at close to seven hours. That’s a lot.” 

“I owe it to Matthew,” she says again, setting her jaw with determination. “He was there for me.” 

Aaron nods. He clearly hasn’t forgotten anything she told him the other day. There’s a brief pause; he clears his throat before he speaks again. “Where is it again?” 

“New York. Just outside of Manhattan. In Pelham. His family … I guess they live there now.”

“I’ll go with you,” he says quietly. “I can drive us up and back.” 

Emily tilts her head to the side, as if she doesn’t understand what he’s saying. “Really?” 

“Really,” he tells her, with something in his voice she can’t quite place. 

“You would do that?” 

“Of course,” he says, this time firmly. “I know he was important to you. You should be able to say goodbye” 

She stares at him, wide eyed. “Thank you, Aaron.” She isn’t sure what else to say - she isn’t even sure this is a great idea, but it’s the only option she has. Her mind shifts almost immediately to logistics. “I guess that means we need to find a hotel and a car.” She picks herself out of the chair and dusts herself off, feeling much less despondent than she did twenty minutes ago, the wheels turning in her head already.

“Not so fast. We still have to convince your mother, and I’m not sure what she’ll think.” Aaron is pacing the floor, as if wondering what he just got himself into. 

“I’ll take care of that,” Emily says cleverly with a smile, the first one he’s seen from her all day. “I can be pretty convincing.” 

_ She isn’t wrong _ , Aaron thinks as Emily heads for the door, striding determinedly back to the Ambassador’s office. 

...

To her surprise, her mother doesn’t question  _ how _ this even came to play. In fact, she’d actually  _ listened _ as Emily proposed the idea, with Aaron lingering in the doorway.

“It’s not a  _ terrible _ plan,” Elizabeth says, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. “I almost wish I thought of it myself. I certainly feel more comfortable with this than the idea of you going with  _ Allison. _ ” 

“I told you, Mother, she’s on  _ vacation.  _ Why do you hate her so much?” 

“I don’t  _ hate _ Allison, Emily. I just don’t think she’s the best  _ influence _ ,” Elizabeth says pleasantly, her eyes shifting between her daughter and Aaron. 

“Maybe I’m the bad influence on her. Have you ever considered that?” 

From his position behind them both, Aaron has to fight a grin. Her mother gives her a dark look. 

“Anyway,” Emily begins, keeping her voice as steady as she can. “If you’ll agree to it, Agent Hotchner has offered to drive me there, and bring me back tomorrow. We’d need to book rooms at a hotel,” she adds carefully, watching her mother’s expression while keeping her tone light. 

Elizabeth narrows her eyes, glancing behind Emily. “You’re actually agreeing to this, Agent Hotchner?” 

Aaron nods. “It wouldn’t be any trouble, Ma’am. I can work some things out with some of the other agents regarding the schedule, and can make up any lost time next week.” 

“No need. You will be paid time and a half for your  _ inconvenience _ ,” her mother begins crisply. “And you will receive an additional two days off next week,  _ with _ overtime pay.” 

“That’s not necessary, Ma’am,” Aaron begins, but Elizabeth just waves her hand, effectively silencing him. 

“I greatly appreciate your dedication, Agent Hotchner. My daughter does too.” The Ambassador’s eyes linger ever so slightly on them both, and Aaron feels the need to look down, in case his face gives them away. “Considering you were the one privy to all of this …  _ drama  _ … in the first place, I do feel more comfortable knowing this can be handled quietly.” 

“Of course, Ma’am,” Aaron says evenly, and now it’s Emily’s turn to hide a grin, because if  _ only _ her mother knew the truth. “It will be handled discreetly. You have my word.” 

When her mother isn’t looking, Emily smiles, satisfied, passing a glance back to Aaron. He gives a subtle nod of his head.  _ It worked _ .

Elizabeth reaches into her desk drawer, pulling out a shiny black credit card. “This is my personal credit card. You may use this to book two hotel rooms, and I will make sure travel arrangements are ready for you within the hour. Bring me a copy of the confirmation before you leave, and take this with you, should any …  _ unexpected circumstances  _ … arise.” 

Emily reaches out for it, attempting to pluck the card from her mother’s hand, except Elizabeth yanks it away just in time and instead extends her arm further to Aaron, who steps forward to take the card. If he’s hesitant he’s not showing it, and Emily feels almost triumphant at this point.

“Please send the Bentons my deepest condolences,” her mother says, reaching for a thick folder on her desk and reviewing the contents inside. She’s already onto her next task, seemingly unaffected. “I hope this is worth it for you, Emily.”

“Things will be just fine, Ma’am,” Aaron says, and Emily fights the urge to laugh. 

**…**

“I still can’t believe you talked her into this,” Aaron says calmly as the SUV merges straight into DMV traffic.  _ It isn’t even rush hour _ , he thinks with annoyance, yet the congestion is just as bad, if not worse, than it would be at 5 PM. She hasn’t said much since they left, and if she keeps this up, it’s going to be a  _ long _ trip of awkward silence and occasional glances.

“She only said yes because now it’s not her problem anymore,” Emily mumbles. “I’m still annoyed at her, though. She makes everything so difficult.” 

“She changed her mind pretty quickly. For a minute I wasn’t sure if she’d buy it at first.” Aaron quickly changes lanes to avoid a sedan that nearly cuts him off. “ _ Son of a bitch,”  _ he mutters under his breath. This is  _ not _ going to be an easy drive.

“You were pretty convincing too, you know.” She lifts her knees to prop her feet against the dashboard, sliding down in the seat. “I didn’t know you were such a good liar.” 

“I didn’t lie about anything.” Aaron briefly looks over at her, and Emily takes it as a cue to continue. 

“She didn’t even question any of this. Can you  _ imagine _ if she knew the truth?” She glances at him sideways, carefully watching his expression at the last bit of her sentence.  _ The truth _ . The truth between them, whatever that might be. 

“I’d be out of a job, for sure,” Aaron says, shaking his head as the traffic seems to thicken before his eyes, and he reaches out to brush her knee with his hand, pushing her legs down. “Put your feet down. If we got into an accident, you wouldn’t be so lucky.” 

“Good thing you’re the one driving then,” Emily retorts, but complies with a huff and a discreet roll of her eyes, shifting in the seat in an attempt to find a comfortable sitting position.  _ Somehow, he’s always trying to keep me safe _ . She sighs audibly upon seeing the thick stream of cars ahead of them, resting her head on her hand, staring out the window. “And I’m not so sure about that. She seems to like you, which is funny because my mother doesn’t like many people.” 

She isn’t lying - Emily has never known her mother to let many do her private bidding, or let anyone know of the secrets they hide behind closed doors **.** Yet here they are, on their way to New York for a funeral for one of her friends -indirectly one of the reasons why their relationship is so fraught in the first place - with Aaron at her side. It’s all so ridiculous she has to remind herself it is, in fact, reality. 

_ Of course her mother likes him. It’ll make it that much harder when she learns the truth. Then, maybe she won’t like him so much.  _ “Some days I can’t believe we’re even related.” 

“You two a lot more alike than you think,” Aaron says perceptively, his free hand reaching for hers, and she takes it, lacing her fingers through his. He waits for it to strike a nerve and yet it doesn’t seem to. Instead, she only strokes his palm with her fingers, turns his hand over in hers. 

“Oh really now?” 

“ _ I  _ think so.” 

“Enlighten me.” She drops his hand, twisting in her seat to face him.

He glances at the road, then at her. “You’re both incredibly intelligent,” he begins. “You’re  _ stubborn _ to a fault, and you’d do anything to protect those you care about, no matter what the circumstance. You like having the upper hand partly because you thrive on control, and partly because you struggle to trust those around you, because you’ve been wronged in the past. Sometimes, it impacts the relationships of those closest to you, but it’s a cycle that you haven’t seemed to break.” 

Her eyes widen, almost popping out her head, and she’s quiet for a few moments, considering his words. He has her completely figured out. It’s so accurate, it’s frightening.

“You’re pretty good,” she says softly, not sure whether to be impressed or alarmed, and Aaron’s eyes stay glued to the road. “Where’d you learn to do that?” 

“Do what?” 

“To … analyze people… their actions ....so accurately.” 

“I pay attention,” he says simply. 

...

When they walk into the hotel side by side over six full hours and three standstill traffic jams later, Emily can’t help but smile with amusement at the expression on his face.  _ He looks so impressed _ . She’s accustomed to the luxurious hotels after staying in so many over the years. That being said, this hotel is one of the nicer hotels she’s stayed at in her lifetime, and probably one of the nicest he’s ever seen. He whistles softly, turning to her. 

“I’ll go check us in. It’s late, so the rooms should be ready.” 

_ Rooms _ . As in more than one. 

It hadn’t come up in the car at all, but something tells her one of those rooms might in fact be unnecessary. 

Dropping into a plush chair in the lobby, Emily crosses her legs and watches Aaron at the concierge. He  _ looks _ like he fits in - his suit barely creased despite the hours in the car, his overnight bag at his side, and she can just make out the outline of the gun on his belt. He looks like a businessman, or part of the Secret Service. He blends in, yet at the same time, he doesn’t - this isn’t his reality, it’s hers. She wonders just what he tells the concierge, or what names are on the reservations, because he’s gone for almost ten minutes. The lobby is relatively quiet - it  _ is _ close to 9, after all. 

“You’re on the fourth floor, I’m on the eighth,” he announces, handing her a room key when he returns from the desk. “I called your mother to let her know we arrived safely. She says hello, and to wear something appropriate tomorrow.” 

She doesn’t miss the roll of his eyes and the jest in his tone. 

“Then I hope you told her the second room wasn’t necessary.” Emily turns the card over in her fingers, enjoying the way his jaw tightens at her last remark.  _ If he wants to make jokes, fine. I’ll joke right back. _

“I made a point to mention the opposite, actually.” He swallows, looking guilty, and for a brief moment, she wishes she’d never put him in this situation in the first place. She wonders what he’s really thinking about all of this.

“Of course you did.” Emily can’t help but laugh this time, because he looks mildly uncomfortable. “I’m sure you were very persuasive.” 

“We’re here because of her,” he says, his tone firm. “I don’t want to create any unnecessary issues.” 

“No one’s going to  _ check  _ on us, you know that right? Aren’t you the chaperone? Shouldn’t you know all of this?” 

“I’m not your chaperone, Emily.” He sounds exasperated by now. After over six hours in the car with her, he probably is. “ Maybe it’s better if we just … do what we came to do and head home.” Aaron stuffs his wallet into his jacket, already looking regretful. 

Yet when she takes the elevator to the fourth floor, he follows her to her room and she doesn’t stop him. She had a feeling he would. 

“I’ll get you settled and head upstairs,” he says unnecessarily as she drags her suitcase into the room, looking around. The rooms are just as she remembers them from years ago, with the opulent finishes and heavy furniture. Dropping onto the bed, Emily flings back, stretching her arms over her head, hearing her stomach growl. 

“I could go for some candy,” she muses out loud. “We passed a vending machine on the way here.” 

Aaron unholsters his gun, depositing it onto the table with a clatter. “Candy? We barely had dinner.” 

They’d stopped over two hours ago - it was his idea in the first place. She sipped a diet coke but only had some of his fries before refusing anything more. “I can’t eat in cars. I get carsick,” she’d reasoned, and he’d decided to let that one go, on the agreement of getting her something else upon arrival.

Yet he rolls his eyes and grabs his room card, heading towards the vending machines, because all he wants is to make her happy. 

…

“They didn’t have much,” he announces as he turns the deadbolt on his way back into the room. “Candy and soda basically. Not a ton of options” He dumps the loot onto the table, rolling his eyes. “Surprising for a hotel like this.” 

“It’s a vending machine, Aaron. What did you expect?” Emily practically leaps off the bed. “Sour straws? I  _ love _ these!” She squeals with delight, reaching for the bag of fluorescent colored red, blue, and green candy coated in sugar. “I can  _ never _ find these anywhere.” 

“ _ That’s  _ what you’re going to eat? A bag of sugar?” Aaron scoffs, and picks up the room service menu, sighing as Emily tears open the candy with excitement. “We should probably order real food.” A glance at it shows the prices are ridiculously expensive, and he sets it down again with a shake of his head. 

“I thought you said you  _ weren’t _ my chaperone, Aaron.” To prove a point, she winks and pops one of the candies in her mouth. “This will do just fine.” 

“You need to eat something,” he begins, but decides against starting an argument with her. This is, after all, not about him. It’s about her, and the funeral, and giving her a chance to have some desperately needed closure. Eating candy for dinner isn’t the worst thing she can do. His stomach starts to growl -maybe later he can order something, once he’s back in his own room. It’s probably better not to draw attention to the fact there’s two people in her room in the first place. Dejectedly, he opens a pack of crackers and takes one of the sodas.

Emily flips through the television channels, seemingly bored, yet content with her bag of candy. She settles on a movie, her body nestled into the middle of the massive king-sized bed, shoes off, ankles crossed delicately. She looks so small in such a huge bed, he observes from his position on the chair at the table. Luckily he’d remembered to bring some work with him, and as she giggles at the movie every few moments, he works through a few new security protocols in a comfortable silence. He looks up every so often, and luckily, she’s completely transfixed by the movie.

It’s almost as if she forgets he’s even in the room, except for the moments she glances over at him, as if checking to see if he’s still there.  _ And of course, he is.  _

It’s late when the movie finishes - the clock reads nearly 11. “What time do you need to be ready tomorrow?” He asks as the credits roll, glancing at his watch and rising to his feet. “I’ll come down to get you and we can head out.” 

“The service starts at 9:30,” she says quietly. The sadness she’s tried to avoid all evening suddenly starts to overwhelm her faster than she can process, now that the movie is over and the weight of tomorrow looms in her mind. “I want to get to the church early,” she adds, averting her gaze. “I need to find a spot where no one will see me.” 

“Why?” He’s gathering his things, starting to think maybe this  _ was _ a bad idea all around. He doesn’t like the implications of what she’s saying, nor the potential consequences of what could happen if things went south tomorrow morning. 

“Mrs. Benton won’t want me there,” Emily tells him sadly, twisting the bracelet on her wrist. “She … isn’t my biggest fan. If she knew  _ everything _ ,” she stops for a minute, taking a deep breath, and he doesn’t have to ask her to elaborate on her choice of words. “If she knew everything, she’d probably kick me out before I even get inside.” 

He stiffens, already disliking Matthew’s mother. “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “That’s not your concern, Aaron. I’m here because I need to be.” 

“Does his family know you’re coming?” 

“I certainly didn’t tell them,” Emily says stiffly, turning away from him just the slightest bit. “It’s not like we keep in touch.” 

“What about John?” 

“What about him?” Her tone is crisp, she gets to her feet, backing away from him, and his words about the upper hand come back to her with a cringe.  _ He’s got her on this one, they both know it.  _

“Is he going to be there too?” 

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t talked to him since you escorted him out of my room. I have no desire to talk to him.” 

“And you think that showing up at the funeral tomorrow after …  _ everything that went down the other day … _ is going to go over without any issues? 

_ She’s thought of that possibility, and despite the fact it makes her nauseous, she ignores it.  _

“Again, that’s not your  _ fucking  _ business, Aaron. It’s a  _ funeral,” _ she says, contempt rising in her voice. “It’s not a brawl. I doubt it will even be an issue.” 

“It  _ is _ my business when I’m the one left picking up the mess after the smoke clears.” There’s just enough bite in his voice that she visibly tenses, starting to feel like there isn’t enough air for both of them in this hotel room.

“I’m not arguing with you about this.” She’s  _ tired,  _ and all she wants is to be left alone about this. “I’m here to say goodbye to Matthew. I didn’t ask you to do this. You volunteered. I don’t need your opinion.” 

“I hope this was worth it,” he says before he can stop himself, already regretting it before the words come out. “I hope you get your closure.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She snaps angrily, her eyes flashing defensively. 

“What it means,” he says, more patient than he feels, “I understand you want to say goodbye to your friend. Again, I’m  _ sorry _ you’re in this situation at all. But at what expense?” 

“I owe it to him,” Emily says coldly. “If that makes you  _ jealous _ , then maybe you  _ shouldn’t _ have come with me.” 

“I’m not jealous, Emily. Far from it, in fact. What I don’t want is to see you get hurt,  _ again _ .” 

“Why not? You seem to  _ love _ saving the day, Aaron. You always manage to swoop right in and pick me up whenever I need it.” She sounds so angry, yet her voice is mixed with something else. 

He reels around, unable to contain his own anger now. “And you still act like you have no idea why.” 

She stops, her entire body freezing on the spot, a perceptive look crossing her beautiful face, followed by something that looks almost like lust. “What is it that you want, Aaron?” Her voice is low, almost a whisper.

“Are you really that naive, Emily? You really have no idea?” He steps closer to her, and only then does he see she’s shaking. “After everything that’s happened the last few weeks you  _ don’t _ know? Or are you just  _ pretending _ not to?” 

“I want to hear you say it, Aaron.” 

_ She’s got him now, they both know it, and there’s nothing left to say except the truth. _

“I want you, Emily,” he says simply, holding up his hands. “I don’t care if you-” 

“Say it again,” she dares him, closing the gap between them, her eyes widening, and the air nearly burns her lungs. 

“I want  _ you _ .” 

“You’re so fucking -”

Before she can finish her sentence, he lifts her as if she weighs nothing, one hand firmly under each of her thighs, letting her legs wrap around his waist with ease. He’s kissing her hungrily, slipping one hand into her hair and keeping her secure against him with the other. Emily loops an arm around his neck and kisses him back, her tongue licking into his mouth. They’re a mess of long limbs and dark hair, frantic kisses and impatient hands. 

Aaron backs up with her in his arms, and when his legs hit the back of the bed, he sets her onto the mattress and quickly shrugs out his jacket, tossing it to the side. She’s on her back when he settles on top of her, an unfamiliar yet welcomed weight, she clutches his shoulders and presses her lips to his. 

Emily practically rips his shirt open, sending buttons flying across the room. She mumbles something that sounds like an apology in her haste to get the fabric off his body, her fingers clawing at his back. 

“You’re so impatient.” He touches his forehead to hers, a gentle kiss to her lips as his hands dip below her dress, dragging it up and over her hips, and inch towards her chest. “You’re lucky I brought another shirt.” 

She smiles against his mouth, hooking her leg over his hip. “You have no fucking idea.” She’s wanted this for too long. 

He fumbles in the pocket of his jacket and then his pants, looking for what she assumes is protection tucked away in his wallet, because of course he wouldn’t be  _ anything _ less than careful with her, and she tightens her fingers around his wrist. “No need,” she whispers, her teeth grazing over his earlobe. She’s been on the pill since the week after she returned from Italy - no chance she’ll make the same mistake over again. 

“Emily,” he begins, pulling away for a brief moment, looking her in the eyes, questioning without words.

“I promise,” she whispers, loosening her grip. 

Aaron brushes her hair out of her face, his touch reverent, his eyes never leaving hers. He says nothing, and instead leaves a trail of kisses across her chest and up her neck. “Get this off,” he breathes, and lifts her up off the mattress just enough to fling the dress to the side and get her bra over her head. 

When she’s completely naked under his gaze she trembles because it only takes seconds before he begins to explore her, again, his lips and hands smoothing over as much of her as he can reach. His eyes linger over every inch of her, committing her body to his memory - the dips and curves, the delicate collarbones and wrists, the length of her legs, the tiny marks and freckles here and there - all the ones he’s never had a chance to see. His teeth graze each of her nipples and leave wet kisses in the bony space between her breasts. She bites back a moan when he continues to kiss his way down her body, his mouth hovering just above the flat plane of her stomach.

“Aaron,” She can’t hide the unsteadiness in her voice as he gets closer to his destination. Why she’s nervous she has no idea, but she trembles when his hand slips between her legs and pushes them apart.

He senses her hesitation almost immediately. “Relax, sweetheart.” She shivers, because he’s just  _ staring _ at her now, unabashedly, his fingertips grazing her inner thighs, smoothing over her skin. “I’ve got you.” He continues to run his fingertips over her thighs until her legs tremble, and judging by the impish grin on his face, he knows  _ exactly _ what he’s doing. 

“ _ Aaron _ ,” she tries again, raising up on her elbows, and her body begins to burn with need. “What are you doing?” 

“Admiring you.” He kisses her knee, and with a devious wink, wets his thumb in his mouth and slowly drags it over her, stopping just at her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure, flicking back and forth. Emily cries out, her back arching against the bed. He likes her reaction so he does it again, except this time he adds two of his fingers inside of her, simultaneously stroking and curving up into her so that she writhes against the sheets. The muscles wrapped around his hand start to flutter almost instantly. 

“Oh my God,” Emily moans, the burn in her lower stomach starting to build faster than she can breathe. Her eyes close and she arches off the bed as her orgasm builds, and the only thing she can hear as she starts to unravel is the sound of his voice. It might very well be her undoing.

“Just like that, sweetheart, that’s it,” he coaxes her close to oblivion while moving his fingers and thumb in the most perfect way, and with one more well-timed stroke she’s done for. Her arm flings around his neck just as she breaks apart, her entire body going stiff and then trembling. Aaron holds her against him as she rocks her hips against his hand desperately seeking the relief she’s been craving for _days - weeks, really_ **.** He never stops moving his hand, continuing to flick his thumb until she’s reaching for his wrist in an attempt to push him away. She settles onto her back when she can think properly once again, and Aaron is watching her, propped on one elbow with his other hand gently stroking her flat stomach. 

“Damn,” he says, an equal mix of impressed and transfixed, and when he brushes against her thigh, Emily grins and throws her leg over his, pinning him beneath her. 

“My turn,” she pushes him down to the pillows, her dark head bending down to kiss her way across his chest. He’s fit but not overly so, and she takes her time, letting her fingers dance over every muscle in his arms and chest on her way down his body. When she reaches her destination, his hand winds into her hair as she takes him into her throat, all the way to the hilt. His eyes roll back not once but twice when Emily’s mouth slides over him. It’s even better than it was in the garden not too long ago, and he tries to relax and let her work him over, but all he wants to do is bury himself inside of her.  _ This  _ isn’t nearly enough. 

“Emily,” his voice is low, gravelly, his hand grips her shoulder, and judging by the way he swells in her mouth, she knows he won’t last much longer like this. She brings him out of her mouth with a soft  _ pop _ , her tongue snaking over him one last time before she crawls up his body, straddling his hips once again. 

When she meets his eyes, she’s blushing, and he cradles her face in his hands, bringing her down just far enough to kiss her. “You’re sure?” 

She smiles. “Completely.” Emily hovers over him, lining her body up with his, her hair falling over her face as she wraps her hand around him. “Never more so.” 

She braces her hands against his chest on her way down, and Aaron has to stop himself from impatiently thrusting up into her in one full stroke. Emily takes him almost excruciatingly slow, and with gentle hands he guides her hips until she’s fully seated with him inside of her. She’s biting her lip as she adjusts, her body stretching to accommodate him.

Emily practically trembles with effort - her body feels like it’s on fire - and it takes all of her concentration to remain upright and not fall against him because it’s _so_ intense. She’s certainly not _new_ to this, but it’s _Aaron_ this time **,** and with his hands clasped around her hips, never breaking the contact, she struggles to breathe. 

He groans at the sensation, his own body flexing involuntarily, and it’s only when she whimpers does he reach for her, pulling her down so they’re chest to chest. “Emily,” he breathes into her neck, unable to remain still any longer, tentatively shifting his hips upward into her. She whimpers again, her face pressed against his shoulder, pulling a shaky breath into her lungs. 

“Look at me.” His voice is low, commanding but gentle, and when she does, he stills. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” she says, her voice cracking. She’s waiting for it to all be a dream - something she’ll never actually experience, but he’s  _ still  _ inside of her, their bodies practically pressed together as one, and she’s thought of it for so long it just  _ can’t  _ be over yet. She winces ever so slightly - it’s been awhile - and of course, he notices right away. 

“Emily,” he soothes, reaching up to cup her breast with his hand, then running his fingers over her torso as if she were a work of art, then smoothing down her waist. “I’m not hurting you, am I?” 

She shakes her head -  _ no  _ \- she can’t remember ever feeling this  _ complete _ . It’s the exact opposite of pain, even though it nearly shatters her into pieces. “Aaron,” she breathes his name, and he begins to move again, each of his thrusts becoming more insistent, more demanding. 

“You feel amazing.” He watches her, almost mesmerized by the way her body moves over him, her breasts bouncing in his face **.** She’s meeting him with each thrust, putting more force in her own movements that are in perfect unison with his. He tightens his grip on her when her hips come down over him once more, holding her in place for a few moments and she cries out. Her head falls back, her eyes close, her mouth slightly open.

“Oh Emily,” he murmurs, low enough that she can barely hear him. “You’re so beautiful.” 

Emily blushes an attractive shade of scarlet, tosses her hair back over her shoulders. There’s a thin sheen of sweat forming down her spine, his fingers slide up and down her back, as if encouraging her. “I - I need -” The words die on her lips, her eyes meet his, finding him watching her with unabashed admiration. 

“What do you need, Emily?” It doesn’t need an answer, and she knows it - he knows it too, but all he wants is to hear her say it. 

“You,” she breathes, and despite the tremor in her voice, she’s never been more sure of anything.

“Say it again, sweetheart.” He uses her words from earlier, and her eyes glaze over, unfocused and hazy. He can tell she’s close, and he wants to get her there at least once, if not twice more, before he does.

“ _ I need you.” _

With seemingly little effort he flips them over, so she’s pinned underneath of him, settling into the cradle of her hips and biting a bruise on her neck as he slides into her again, his arm underneath her to hold her against him. She doesn’t care in the least if it leaves a mark, and instead digs her heel into his lower back, urging him on.

“Faster.” 

He shakes his head, stilling inside of her completely. “Not yet, sweetheart.” 

“Why?” she whines, arching her back and stretching her arms over her head. 

“Trust me,” he says, his eyes locked on hers. 

She’s never been one for anything but a quick fuck, up until this very moment, but she nods and digs her fingers into the sheets. Aaron is moving slow enough that she feels every inch of him when he pushes into her, every bit of pressure against her clit, and it’s so  _ good _ she wants to scream. Instead, she bites her lip and throws her head against the pillows. He rears back and drives into her slowly and completely, each thrust deeper than the one before it, and her body starts to quiver once more. 

“Come for me again,” he growls, his teeth nipping at her neck and shoulders. “Emily,” he draws her name out, and with one more push into her, she comes apart with a strangled cry, his name on her lips. 

This time he’s right there with her, and their mouths seal together to silence the near screams coming from her now, and her body is pressed against his as they come back down together. With one last languid kiss, Aaron practically collapses on top of her this time, and her legs stay around his waist as they lay together, their hearts pounding against the other as their breathing returns to normal.

...

After he’s cleaned her up and gotten her a glass of water, she lays in his arms, her back nestled against his chest and his chin over her shoulder. It’s strangely intimate, and so unlike each and every one of the other times she’d found herself in bed with someone. It makes her heart ache. 

“Aaron?” She whispers into the dark, breaking the silence that’s fallen between them. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but it’s been awhile since he’s said anything, and she wonders for a moment if he’s sleeping. 

“What, sweetheart?” He kisses her shoulder blade twice, then her cheek, tightening his grip around her waist, as if letting her know he’s still there - that he hasn’t gone anywhere.  _ Not that he ever would. _ “You should sleep,” he adds, his lips grazing her ear. “It’s getting late.” 

“I’m sorry for arguing with you earlier. What I said about this being none of your … business.” She tenses in his arms, and he loosens his hold, in case she wants to break free. She doesn’t - in fact, she only moves  _ closer _ to him. “I’m glad you came with me,” she adds. “I really didn’t want to come alone..”

He gently rolls her onto her back to look her in the eyes, resisting the urge to kiss her. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Emily. How you choose to grieve is up to you. I shouldn’t have tried to talk you out of it.” He tucks her hair behind her ear, running his thumb down her cheek. “Should have just kept my mouth shut. I’m sorry.” And then he kisses her because he can't help himself, chaste and sweet, on the lips. 

She strokes the side of his face. “You were only trying to keep me safe, Aaron.” 

He blinks in the dark. “I think it’s more than that, Emily.” 

_ So much more. _

“I know.” 

There’s no more denying it, especially now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 21!


	21. Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Pull over, Aaron.” 
> 
> “Are you crazy?” 
> 
> “You all but told me I wasn’t just a few minutes ago,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments, kudos, etc on the last chapter - they seriously made my day - I love hearing your thoughts!

**Chapter 21: Underneath**

_ There is no difference in what we're doing in here, that doesn't show up as bigger symptoms out there. _ _ So why spend all our time undressing our bandages, when we've the ultimate key to the cause right here.  _

Emily wakes up to his lips all over her, and her eyes are barely open before he’s settling between her legs assuredly, rock hard against her thigh, their mouths meeting in a deep kiss. 

The sky is turning from black to a deep bluish grey, not yet sunrise but too light to still be nighttime. In the soft darkness he kisses his way across her chest as they fit together once more, her knees on either side of his hips. Sliding into her with one smooth stroke, Emily inhales sharply, her fingers digging into his back to pull him closer as her eyes open. 

He holds himself inside of her for a few moments, groaning at the sensation of her already starting to tremble around him even though he hasn’t even moved yet - she’s barely even awake and yet she’s already close. “Good morning,” he murmurs against her ear, testing her with a gentle shift of his hips.

“Hi,” she says, almost shyly, her eyes fluttering shut when he moves. “Miss me?” 

**“** Just a little, **”** he replies, pulling his hips back just enough so she whines as he pulls out, rearing back yet never taking his eyes off of her.  _ God, she’s beautiful _ . 

“What time is it?” Her head rolls to the side, her hips lift against his at the loss of contact. Aaron uses the opportunity to kiss the side of her face, dropping kisses down her cheek and over her forehead and her eyes before driving back into her a bit harder than he intended.

Emily moans, long and loud, and he wishes he could hear her make that sound every day for the rest of his life.

“Early.” He reaches down between them to flick his fingers over her clit, just to hear her moan again. When she does, he smiles, pleased with himself. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you _,_ ” he says into her ear, his voice almost seducing as he punctuates his words with deliberate movements of his hips and another brush of his fingertips. “Feel good?”

“Y-Yes,” she keens, and he  _ loves  _ the blissful look on her face so much that he does it again. She half-whimpers, half-squeals, and he shushes her with a kiss. He moves over her deftly, with ease, wanting to touch every inch of her he can. “So good.” She almost doesn’t recognize her own voice, full of lust.

“How many times do you think I can make you come this morning?” He asks deviously, lifting her right leg and settling it over his shoulder. 

She stares up at him, wide eyed. “I don’t know,” she gasps, the change in angle nearly taking her over the edge too soon. “Oh my God.” 

“Tell me.” 

She wonders how  _ either one of them can even think _ when he’s talking to her like this. “ _ Aaron _ ,” she breathes, her back arching into him as he pushes her into the mattress more forcefully this time, his hips beginning to drive into her with a precision he didn’t know was possible. But she still hasn’t answered his question, and he’s insistent. “Focus, Emily. On me.” 

Her hair spreads around like a dark halo against the white sheets. It’s a question she’s never been asked before, partly because no one has ever cared to. She isn’t even sure herself. “Maybe twice?”

“Twice?” 

He almost looks disappointed.

“Let’s make it more than that,” he coaxes, reaching for her left leg, curling it around his waist, a doting look in his eyes. “God, look at you.” The sight of her body essentially twisted around his, her limbs trembling, her mouth slightly open and her eyes hooded, all because of him, is an image he won’t forget anytime soon. “Let’s make it three.” 

“What if - What if I don’t?” Her head rolls against the pillow, her focus starting to wane. 

“Are you underestimating me?” To prove a point, Aaron pushes into her  _ hard _ , harder than before.

She lets out something that sounds like a whimper, needier than he anticipated, and he smiles as she whispers in his ear. “I would never.” 

“I didn’t think so, sweetheart.” He drops his head and kisses her.

If last night was slow, this morning is anything but, and within minutes he’s worked her up to the point where she can barely form a coherent thought, her moans a near constant soundtrack in his ear. The bed creaks loudly underneath them, and if she didn’t look so mesmerizing like this he would pick her up and pin her against the wall until she screamed his name. 

“ _ Aaron _ ,” Emily whines. She’s about to fall apart - she’s  _ never _ been  _ this _ close so quickly before, and he’s doing an impressively good job of keeping her right where he wants her. She’s writhing underneath of him, seeking the release she  _ needs _ yet again. Her leg is still over his shoulder, her heel digging into the blade, and at this angle he can feel every inch of her whenever he moves. It makes him almost dizzy, and he has to  _ concentrate _ to make sure he doesn’t let her go too soon.

“Soon, sweetheart.” He reaches down between them to flick her clit again and she cries out once more, even louder this time. 

She’s  _ not _ used to his intensity, the way he nearly takes her apart and brings her back only to do it again, and then again if she’s lucky. It hasn’t been long, but she’s already getting sore, especially after last night. Aaron seems to catch on too, because he rears back, brushing her hair out of her face and slowing the pace of his hips “Emily, you’re shaking,” he murmurs, hovering over her cautiously. “Do you want me to stop?” 

“I’m fine,” she lifts herself against him, encouraging him to continue, because by the look on his face he’s just as close as she is. “ _ Keep going, Aaron.”  _

“Sweetheart,” he says, his eyes full of understanding and concern, reaching for her ankle on his shoulder and lowering it around his waist to change the angle, and she hisses. “Do you want to stop?” 

“Maybe not so hard,” she says sheepishly, a wince crossing her face. She runs her fingers down his stubble, cupping his cheek as he hovers over her protectively. “I’m - it’s been  _ awhile _ ,” she mutters, her cheeks going red as she turns away from him.

“You should have said something.” He uses his finger to turn her chin so she’s looking at him again. He’s off of her in seconds, pulling her into his arms, a concerned expression spreading across his face. “I’m sorry, Emily.” 

“I’m  _ fine, _ Aaron. I’m not going to break, you know.” Despite her words, she looks embarrassed, and he kisses her reassuringly. 

“This will feel better if you’re sore,” he’s readjusting them both, sliding her back into the pillows, moving her down and nudging her legs open, up over his shoulders again, with a bit more tenderness this time. “Now where was I?” 

“Aaron, you don’t have to - oh _God_ ,” she moans when his hands wrap around her thighs and spread her apart, his lips locking around her clit. “Holy _fuck,”_ she moans, and she’s so _fucking_ close all it takes is three long strokes, each with a flick of his tongue. When she finally breaks, her back arches and her legs tremble so much he has to pin them down with his hands. 

She’s so sensitive she can barely take it anymore, but when she settles down, he’s still there, kissing her inner thighs and grazing his lips over her slick skin just enough to make her hips twitch. “Where did you learn to do that?” 

He winks at her on his way back up, brushes his thumb over her cheek. “Do you really want to know?” 

“I guess not. Some things are better left unsaid.” With that, Emily pushes him down on his back, and swings a leg around his waist. 

Aaron’s eyes widen in surprise. “Emily,” he says, his hands going to her sides to hold her still before she takes him inside of her. “You just said - I don’t want to make you -” 

“Just go slowly,” She sounds bolder than she expected, but she doesn’t even care at this point. “I’ll be fine,” she adds, reaching down to bring his hands up to her breasts. Her eyes roll in the back of her head as she moves down, taking him completely. 

“Emily, you’re-” 

She cuts him off with a kiss, rounding her shoulders to lean over him. “Stop talking, Aaron.” 

Emily starts to move, rolling her hips fluidly yet carefully, enjoying the sensation of fullness, the gentle roughness of his calloused hands palming her breasts, his lips closing around her nipples. “God, Aaron,” she whispers, not even realizing the words she’s saying. He’s saying her name, telling her how beautiful she is, but she can barely hear him.

It doesn’t take long until he’s wrapping his arms around her to bring her close, sealing his mouth over hers, and with one more squeeze of her muscles, one push of his hips, she’s  _ there _ . This time she’s quiet; he can only tell from the sharp inhale, a gasp, and the clenching of her body around his, the breathy pants in his ear, the hushed whisper of his name on her lips. He comes immediately after with a groan, an erratic thrust of his hips. He opens his eyes when he can finally breathe again, to find her still perched on top of him, her hands supporting her weight on his stomach. 

“That sure beats an alarm clock,” Emily quips as she gingerly moves off of him, reaching for the sheets. 

“I’ll say.” He reaches for her, pulling her into his arms, his fingers running up and down her spine as their legs tangle together. “Why didn’t you say something at first?” He looks slightly regretful. “I wouldn’t have been so … persistent.” 

“I wanted to rise to your challenge,” she laughs softly. “So much for three.” 

“We’ll get there. Maybe next time we’ll make it four,” he says with a wink, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

_ Next time _ . The thought alone makes her heart swell, and a blush rises to her face, a shiver runs through her body. 

“You’re freezing.” Aaron pulls the covers up to her shoulders, tightening his grip on her as a tremor goes through her. “Should I get the extra blanket from the closet?” _ Surely there has to be one. _

“I’m okay,” she whispers, her head against his chest, fingers clutched against his shoulder. She feels so safe with him - the way he looks at her and holds her, the way he manages to anticipate what she needs every single time, before she even knows it herself. A quick glance at the clock tells her she has less than two hours before she needs to get out of the warm, safe hotel room bed, yet she’s exhausted now, and part of her wants to spend the rest of the day exactly the way she is now.  _ Except she can’t.  _

They lay in silence for a few moments; she can hear his heart beat in his chest and it’s soothing, almost lulling her back to sleep. She  _ doesn’t _ want to face it - the reality of Matthew truly being gone. But she doesn’t have a choice. 

“Are you ready for today?”

_ Of course he would know what’s going through her mind. _

He isn’t entirely sure how to approach the situation after their argument last night, but can’t just ignore it, because the sun is starting to rise behind the drawn curtain, and soon enough, their day will eventually start. 

“I don’t know.” Her voice wavers; she doesn’t try to hide it. “I’m trying not to think about it.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He almost expects her to pull away, to put space between them, as she’s done almost every other time he’s probed about anything remotely sensitive.

“Not now.” She sighs as her eyes drift shut. “I just want to sleep. I’m so tired.” 

“Did I wear you out that much?” He can’t help it, despite the sadness in her voice. 

“Shut up, Aaron. She smacks him playfully, but she’s smiling, even though there’s a touch of sadness in her eyes. “ _ Someone _ just had to wake me up.” She snuggles into him, throwing an arm around his waist for good measure.

“Close your eyes for a little. I’ll wake you up when it’s time.” He holds her tighter and kisses her until her breathing deepens and her body goes slack against him. He lets her sleep in his arms and doesn’t even notice when they go numb. 

...

The sun is shining when she finally opens her eyes again, twisting out of his grip when she realizes what time it is. “ _ Fuck,”  _ she mutters, because the services start at 10, and of course there will be traffic. “Of  _ fucking _ course I’m going to be late.” 

Aaron wakes up too - he didn’t even realize he also fell asleep in the first place - and he’s trying to regain sensation in his arms as she makes a dash for the bathroom. When the door slams, shut he reaches blindly for his watch, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.  _ Shit. _ It’s close to 9. Her plan of arriving early is all but out of the question at this point. It’s going to be a _ long _ day - for both of them - coffee is an absolute necessity.

He knocks gingerly on the bathroom door. “Do you want coffee?” 

“What?” She calls from over the noise of the shower spray.

“Coffee,” he repeats, a little louder this time. “I was going to get some coffee. Do you want some?”

“Oh. Right. That would be great, thanks.”

“Black?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Any food?” 

There’s a long pause. “Some toast? If you can find any?”

“You got it.” 

As she hears the door shut, Emily does a quick self-assessment in the mirror - she looks  _ tired _ , which isn’t surprising considering the late night  _ and _ early morning. Her hair is sticking up in multiple directions; there are bite marks on her shoulders, red marks on her neck.  _ Jesus, Aaron _ , Emily thinks as she notices some of the fingerprint bruises on her hips. Her skin feels raw from all the places his mouth caressed, the soreness between her legs already intensifying.  _ Walking _ , she thinks,  _ may be a challenge.  _

In the shower, she rinses away the traces of him - of both of them -and stands under the spray, the water like hundreds of tiny needles against her skin. And when she emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, wrapped in a towel, Aaron has already neatened up the room  _ and _ has two cups of coffee on the nightstand, accompanied by several slices of toast and a variety of toppings.

“We should leave in the next twenty minutes,” he says as calmly as possible. He  _ knows _ she’s nervous - she’s moving around the room quickly, reaching for her clothes and digging through her bag for makeup and other essentials, her lip between her teeth. “If you want to make it on time.” 

“Okay,” she says quietly, clutching the towel around her body a little tighter.  _ Modesty is all but out the window at this point _ , she thinks, yet for some reason she feels the need to cover up. 

“Your coffee is on the table. I’m going to shower while you get ready.” 

She only nods, staring at the clothes in her hand, the pit in the bottom of her stomach starting to grow. 

…

“Do you want me to go in with you?” Aaron asks tentatively, his face etched with concern. They’re parked a few blocks away from the church, and if she doesn’t go now, she’s going to miss it. Her silence the entire ride has been more than telling, and he has to resist the impulse to reach for her hand. She’s been twisting the hem of her skirt in her fingers for the last ten minutes, the material terribly creased. He knows her answer will be a resounding no, but there’s not much else he can say to break the silence. 

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “No. I need to do this myself.” Emily smoothes her hair, checks her carefully applied makeup in the mirror.  _ I have to _ . “It won’t be long,” she adds, glancing in his direction for the first time since they left the hotel. 

“Take as long as you need. I don’t mind waiting.” 

…

She didn’t know what she was expecting, but she didn’t think it would hurt this  _ badly _ . 

The service is full, a mix of family, relatives, friends, and a large crowd of people her own age. She doesn’t recognize many of the faces,  _ but _ those she does remember are enough to bring memories of Italy hurling back into her mind. She’s grateful for the sunglasses that cover almost her entire face, yet is all too aware of the lingering stares from a few people scattered in the pews.Only when the priest starts does she remove her sunglasses, turning them over and over in her hands. She keeps her eyes forward, on the priest, yet  _ that _ doesn’t feel right either. She doesn’t belong in a church. 

Mrs. Benton spots her almost immediately, even though she’s hidden in the back of the church at the end of a row, sitting alone. Her hawkish eyes are almost steely, even through her grief, and Emily has to look away, because the shame is almost too much to bear.

_ Matthew would have hated this _ , she thinks sadly, because the full Catholic mass and service is everything he stood against.  _ Even in death, they couldn’t honor his fucking wishes _ , Emily thinks, fighting the wave of nausea that keeps coming and going with a vengeance. The priest is going on and on, his voice swimming in her ears, and a cold sweat forms on her skin. It brings up her own memories- nightmares, really - but she pushes it out, because today isn’t about  _ her _ . 

She spies John - the side of his face actually - and God must be laughing at the irony of her being in a church, because as soon as she realizes it’s him, he turns his head and stares right at her, full of judgement. She wants to look away but she stares right back. It’s  _ years  _ of resentment in her eyes, a myriad of unresolved feelings, perhaps also a touch of guilt, in his. In the end, he actually turns away first.  _ Good, _ she thinks as he swallows hard, his eyes turning back to the front of the church.  _ Fuck you _ . 

When it’s close to being over, all she wants to do is leave. She’s still insanely nauseous, a confusing mix of sweating and freezing. But she thinks she’s about to vomit, and she  _ can’t _ do that in front of Aaron (he didn’t sign up for that), so she darts to the cramped church restroom. She practically throws herself over the toilet, clenching the bowl with trembling fingers, yet nothing comes, just a few dry heaves. 

After a quick splash of cold water on her face, she hurries out of the bathroom and to the church doors, desperate to get the  _ fuck _ out and back to the sanctuary of the SUV. 

“I had a feeling you would show up,” a cold voice says from behind her as she’s about to round the corner. “Had the service not started I would have thrown you out myself.” 

_ She knows that voice.  _ Turning around, Emily finds herself almost face to face with Mrs. Benton. 

“Mrs. Benton,” she croaks, swallowing hard. “I’m - I’m so very sorry for your loss.” Shoving her hands in the pockets of her blazer, Emily can barely look the older woman in the eye. But she does, and quickly wishes she hadn’t. 

She scowls, and from the close distance, Emily can see the fine lines and wrinkles that she didn’t have five years ago.  _ She’s aged so much - Matthew didn’t make it easy for her.  _ “Why did you show up here?” Her voice is laced with pain, and for a brief moment, Emily can’t help but feel sympathy for her. 

“I wanted - needed - to say goodbye,” she tells her, her foot tapping the floor nervously. 

“Is that so? You  _ needed _ to? What is it to you?” 

The nausea comes surging back. “I loved Matthew, you know.” 

Mrs. Benton makes a noise that sounds something like disbelief. “Did you though? Because I seem to recall you cutting him out after you just up and left, with no explanation.” 

_ She has no idea about any of it _ , Emily thinks.  _ Any of it. _

“I know it was more than that,” she hisses, coming closer to Emily, her index finger jabbing the air. “I know something happened with the two of you. He wasn’t the same after you left. That’s when all of this started.” She dabs at her eyes with a crumpled tissue in her shaking hands. “I blame you for some of this.” 

“Mrs. Benton, I -” Emily attempts, but she’s quickly cut off.

“You should never have come,” the older woman snaps, staring Emily down with nothing but disdain and pure anger in her face. “He wouldn’t want you here.” 

The words are like a knife in her chest and twisted around, and Emily fights the urge to punch her in the face. 

“Just get out,” Mrs. Benton says, her voice thick with tears, and Emily averts her eyes, stepping around her and making a dash for the door. 

…

She vomits into a bush as soon as she’s out of the church, retching almost violently, hidden behind a few strategically placed trees. After she’s certain no one saw her, and the coast is clear, she turns her back to the church and toward the place they agreed to meet. The day is warm but there’s a breeze rustling her hair, and she’s grateful for some fresh air. 

Aaron is sitting on a bench with sunglasses on, a cup in his hand. There’s a book in his lap even though he clearly isn’t reading it, and he slides over a few inches to make room when she gets close enough. “How was it?” 

“It was a funeral,” she says, as calmly as she can, keeping her sunglasses on in case her eyes are bloodshot from vomiting. “How else can you describe it?” 

He nods thoughtfully, glancing her up and down, passing over a full bottle of water. “Thought you might want this.” 

She rolls her eyes but is secretly grateful, because she’s parched, but sips slowly and carefully, a shaking hand wrapped around the bottle. “I forgot how long a full Catholic mass takes. It’s been a long  _ fucking _ time since I’ve been in a church.” She stares straight ahead, continuing to sip the water slowly, gathering her wits. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I think so.” 

He clearly doesn’t believe her. “You look like hell,” he says, not unkindly, more out of concern than anything else. 

She laughs bitterly. “Thanks a lot.” 

“Is there anything you need?” 

“Maybe a piece of gum? She asks quietly, eyes on her knees. 

It all but confirms his suspicions, but he reaches into his pocket and hands her an unopened pack. 

“Thanks.” She fumbles with the wrapper, grateful for the distraction to avoid looking at him. “Can we just get out of here? I want to go home.” 

...

The ride back to DC feels even longer than it did on the way up, and this time there’s hardly  _ any  _ traffic to blame. 

“Did you leave tip money for the maids in the rooms? Both of them?” She glances over at him, a worried expression on her face. 

“Of course I did,” he assures her quickly. “You were in the shower.” 

“Good,” she murmurs, curling her legs to her chest, except  _ that _ exacerbates the soreness that still lingers, but sitting regularly is also starting to become uncomfortable. She shifts, uncrossing and recrossing her legs, then tucks one under her, to no avail. 

“You good over there?” Aaron glances in the rearview mirror before changing lanes. It’s not the first time he’s asked her since they’d gotten in the car. 

“I’m fine.” She rests her head on her hand, giving the same answer. Emily knows he doesn’t believe her, but he doesn’t push it. “I just want to get out of this  _ fucking _ car.” 

“Get comfortable. We have about four hours left.” 

“Easier said than done, you know.” 

He looks over at her, softening his tone. “Are you still sore?” 

“A bit,” she mumbles, flushing red again. She sighs audibly, flipping the visor down and looking in the mirror, making a face at herself.  _ Is this what I looked like all day?  _

“You look fine,” he says without being asked his opinion. “Plus, it’s just the two of us. No one to impress.” And then he reaches over, touching her cheek. She leans into his hand for a split second, wishing she could put into words what she’s feeling. Instead, she offers a small smile. 

“Are you hungry at all?”

_ He’s always so worried about me.  _

“I could eat,” she says, only because she knows it’s what he wants to hear, and maybe he’ll stop worrying if she does. 

…

As it turns out, food actually helps a lot. Emily feels semi-human again once they’re back in the car, with nothing but a long stretch of highway in front of them, and of course, her own thoughts.

“His mother blames me.” It’s twenty minutes into the next leg of their trip, and the silence is so deafening she can’t stand it anymore. 

“What?” For a second, he thinks he heard her incorrectly.

“I’m starting to think she’s right.” 

“Emily,” He begins, looking over at her quickly, his face darkening upon seeing hers. “What happened back there?” 

She pauses, takes a deep breath, rubbing her index fingers on her temples. “It was horrible.” She reaches for his hand on her own accord. “I mean, all funerals are horrible to a degree, I guess. But this … it just felt so  _ wrong _ .” 

“Talk to me, Emily.” 

“It’s like it wasn’t even about  _ him _ . Like they didn’t even think about what Matthew would have wanted. He would have  _ hated _ all of it, Aaron.” She takes a deep breath. “I saw John during the service. He … Luckily that’s the only time,“ she trails off, lightheaded. “And then I saw his mother on my way out.” 

“What happened?” He already has an idea of what  _ could _ have gone down, judging by the pallor of her face when she’d first sat down next to him. 

“She cornered me on my way out of the bathroom. Told me I shouldn’t have come, that she blamed me for it, that he was never the same after I left.”

“She’s  _ wrong,  _ Emily,” he attempts. “It wasn’t and it never will be. You hadn’t seen him in  _ years _ . I know you feel guilty, but none of this is your fault.” He wishes he could have a few words with Mrs. Benton, but it’s probably better he doesn’t. 

“That’s what John said too. Maybe they’re both right.” 

“They’re not,” he says insistently, gripping the wheel tighter, trying to hide the anger in his voice. “You  _ have _ to let that one go.” 

“What if I can’t?” There’s guilt on her face. 

“There’s nothing wrong with letting yourself grieve,” Aaron says pointedly. “Grief isn’t linear, Emily. It’s a process. It takes time. But you  _ need  _ to stop blaming yourself.” 

She seems to consider his sentiment for a few minutes, staring out the window, and despite every emotion that courses through her - the sadness of the day, the confusion, all of it - there’s something else she needs. 

“Pull over.” 

“What?” 

“You heard me. Pull over, Aaron.” 

“Are you crazy?” 

“You all but told me I wasn’t just a few minutes ago,” Emily says nonchalantly, shrugging out of her blazer and throwing it somewhere in the backseat, reaching for the hem of the shirt underneath. “It’s not like we have to  _ rush _ home, you know.” 

“Emily -” Aaron says, shaking his head with disbelief, catching on to what she’s asking of him. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. Probably not the best idea.” 

“There’s an exit two miles ahead. Pull the  _ fuck _ over, Aaron.” She sounds so desperate he does, turning off the highway onto a smaller road, and in seconds, the car is parked in a small clearing covered mostly by thick trees. 

“You’re out of your mind,” he says, but despite his words, he’s already having a hard time  _ not _ growing hard right then and there. 

“But you love it, don’t you?” 

“I thought you were -” she cuts him off with a kiss, her hand on the nape of his neck pulling him to her. 

He can’t even try to turn her down **.**

Within moments, he’s in the backseat, Emily wedged on his lap as she rides him  _ hard _ . 

The soreness from before is all encompassing but she doesn’t show it because  _ all _ she wants to do is get out of her own head for a little while. He’s not complaining at this point, and despite his initial reluctance, he’s  _ more _ than happy to appease her now. 

“Right there,” she pants breathlessly, her hips canting against his pelvis. From this angle he has the perfect view of her breasts, and he buries his face in between them as her body moves above him. “Right there, oh my God.” Emily is close to shattering, her thighs shaking around him, and Aaron thrusts into her one more time before her eyes close and her head rolls back; the intensity of her orgasm all but takes the wind out of her. 

“ _ Fuck,”  _ Aaron grunts, pulling her hips down as he spills into her just moments later. “Fuck, Emily,” he wraps his arms around her and pulls her to his chest, holding her close as they both shudder through the aftershocks of their climax. 

This time he’s the one trembling, and Emily runs her fingers through his hair, coming to rest on the back of his neck. She kisses him, deep and full, then trails butterfly kisses across his cheeks. “Can’t say I’ve ever done  _ that _ before.” 

_ Neither can he.  _

… 

They’re  _ still  _ in Pennsylvania, about an hour outside of Maryland. He’s starting to get stiff from  _ hours _ of driving, her mind is starting to wander again as the trees race by, the various exit signs blurring in her mind as the distance between here and home gets smaller. 

“What happens now?” It comes out as a whisper, but like he said earlier, it’s just the two of them. He doesn’t even have to pretend like he didn’t hear her. 

“What do you mean?” 

“What do we do now, Aaron?” She doesn’t have to elaborate any further. 

He looks surprised at her question. “I wasn’t aware we had to do anything,” he says with a hint of caution. He looks nervous - she can’t blame him, really. “This doesn’t change anything.” 

“You don’t regret it?” 

“Why would I?” He grips the wheel tighter, presses down on the gas a little more. “I think you know how I feel, Emily.” 

Her heart skips a beat, because the only thing she hears in his voice is the truth. She does know - she’s  _ always _ known, and his brutal honesty makes her heart ache. “I … I know,” Emily stares at her fingers, wishing she hadn’t even asked in the first place. “Just … I’m a fucking mess. Look at what you’re getting yourself into.” 

Aaron looks over, an incredulous look on his face. “Getting myself into? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“You know what I mean, Aaron. The last few weeks haven’t exactly been smooth sailing, have they?” 

_ She’s right, to an extent. _ The last month or so has been one of the most tumultuous of his entire life.

But he doesn’t care.

“Emily,” he begins, patient and understanding. “You’re no more of a mess than anyone else.” 

She laughs - an actual laugh, yet it’s like a cold slap in the face because  _ she _ clearly doesn’t believe what he’s just said, or any of the affirmations he’s given her since the day they met. 

“I’m glad  _ you _ think so.”  _ Nothing could be further from the truth.  _

“Do you regret it?” It’s his turn to ask now. 

“Of course not,” she shoots back without hesitation, but the slightest bit of apprehension. “Not one bit.” 

“Then why are we even having this conversation?” 

He’s not expecting a response, and he doesn’t get one. 

What he  _ does _ get is the reach of her hand, and her fingers linking through his. It’s as much of an answer as she’ll give, and he takes it willingly, because it’s better than nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for Chapter 22 coming soon!


	22. Twenty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intimacy has never been a strength of hers - it’s too personal, too complicated, too messy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated M.

**Chapter 22: Renegades** : 

_ Long live the pioneers, rebels and mutineers. Go forth and have no fear. Come close the end is near _

Intimacy has never been a strength of hers - it’s too personal, too complicated, too messy. 

It never ends well - in broken hearts and shattered pieces - and to her, it’s easier to just avoid it entirely, at all costs.

For all intents and purposes, sex isn’t something she’s even particularly  _ enjoyed _ . Of course, she did it, because at first,  _ everyone _ was doing it - it would be  _ weird  _ if she wasn’t - and then eventually, she did it because it was just easier to instead of coming up with reasons not to. 

_ Maybe,  _ Allison had told her once over too many tequila shots, with a told-you-so look on her face,  _ you’re just not doing it with the right person. _ Emily laughed her off, because that  _ had  _ to be a ridiculous assumption. Or was it? 

Deep down, she always knew Allison was right, but up until  _ him _ , she never cared too much.

She’d lost her virginity to Johnny on the ground of that sticky, muggy pool house outside his family’s Italian villa in Rome. It’d been over within minutes, and he’d rolled off of her as quickly as he could, leaving her dazed, confused, and sore. He came back - of course he did - but each time after that was more disappointing than the previous, and in the moments after he left, she felt the overwhelming need to scrub her skin raw.

A month after he left for the last time, she cried into Matthew’s arms with the positive pregnancy test clutched in her hand and a pit of dread in her stomach. 

There were a few others in Europe over the course of her travels, and of course, Tom. Each in their own way had been unsatisfying and at times infuriating, leaving her with nothing but the overwhelming sense of disappointment, and the unrelenting burden of shame. Over time, she’d simply learned to fuck, carry on, forget. 

There was no other way. 

Until him, because with Aaron, it’s different. It’s been different since the day she met him.

Not that she ever had any doubt it would be. 

_ … _

The  _ next _ time it happens (two days after they return home from New York), she comes to him, because she can’t spend another minute just  _ thinking _ about it. He answers the door on the first knock, and within seconds she’s bent over the threadbare couch in his living room, his hand between her legs. With his chest pressed against her back he takes her apart with just the tip of his thumb, pressing and flicking slowly against her clit. His teeth graze her shoulder with enough pressure to leave a mark, in place of the ones he’s already left there - they haven’t even started to fade. 

It’s almost more intimate than everything else they’ve done lately, as he murmurs into her ear, telling her  _ exactly  _ what he plans on doing to her once she’s in his bed **,** and she comes so hard and fast it nearly takes the air right from her lungs. He holds her in place and doesn’t stop until her legs shake uncontrollably. She attempts to muffle her cries with one of the pillows, but Aaron quickly pulls it away. “I want to hear you, Emily,” he coaxes, his arm coming to hold around her waist while his other hand continues to push her toward her release. Her eyes roll back in her head and her knees buckle underneath her. The only reason she doesn’t collapse is because he’s keeping her on her feet.

She’s still shaking when she turns around to drop to her knees in front of him, but he pulls her back up. “Bedroom,” he nearly growls, and the look in his eyes is so intense, she almost has to look away. “Now.” 

How they make it in one piece instead of just fucking right there on the floor is a mystery to her, but he lowers her onto his bed carefully before covering her body with his. She finally allows herself to relax when his head dips between her legs, taking them over his shoulders. When his mouth finds its destination, she almost slides right off the mattress and he gently pins her down with his hands. 

“Careful sweetheart” he says, his nose brushing right against her clit, and she nearly comes again right there on the spot. “I haven’t even gotten started.” 

“Aaron,” she whimpers, her body writhing against the sheets, but he’s already back to his task of driving her insane, and his tongue is even more persistent, practically devouring her as she watches with her own two eyes. She’s almost forgotten how to breathe when she finally screams,  _ loud _ enough to wake his neighbors through the thin walls, but he doesn't care, keeping his mouth on her until she pulls him back up to her. 

The kiss that follows is calm and slow - a stark contrast of what he  _ just _ did, and even though she’s already tired, it’s far from over. Not that she ever wants it to end. 

Her legs close around his waist, and when he’s inside of her again, she exhales, contentedly, a blissful look on her face. He meets little resistance but she still inhales sharply at the sensation. Aaron holds himself above her while she adjusts to him, reassuring her with kisses on the forehead. “I missed you,” he breathes into her neck and cradles her against his chest with one arm while setting a quick, unforgiving pace **.** When she shudders beneath him, it hits her so fast it nearly knocks the wind out of her again, and as she screams, Aaron stills his hips and watches her convulse beneath him, his eyes locked on hers. 

“It hasn’t even been three days, Aaron,” she whispers back once she can formulate words, cupping his cheek with her hand. “But I missed you too.” She runs her fingers through his hair, kisses him sweetly on the lips. 

She’s still trembling around him, barely recovered, but he’s not done, his eyes dark and demanding. When he rolls them over with just enough precision to keep himself fully seated inside of her, Emily braces her hands against his chest and shakes her head at the implication of what he’s trying to do. Her body is already exhausted and beginning to go numb. She’s never had more than two in a row, and the majority of those were self-induced. Three is pushing it; he must be crazy for trying to get her to four. “Aaron, I can’t again.” 

He pulls her head to his for a kiss, grinning at the sensation of her muscles fluttering around him. “One more. Remember our deal?” 

“I can’t,” she moans as he shakes his head. She nearly slumps over him, but he’s right there to push her back up over him, gentle yet demanding. 

“You can,” he says soothingly, his hand cupping her cheek, shifting his hips teasingly. He’s gazing up at her, his eyes glazed with lust - she’s almost shaking with effort to remain upright, biting her lip, her hair an absolute mess, her makeup smudged around her eyes in dark rings. It’s only then does she realize how he’s looking at her - as if she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. What she doesn’t know, is it’s exactly what he’s thinking. “You,” he drops kisses on whatever parts of skin his mouth can reach, “are perfect.” 

Emily bites her lip and whimpers as he thrusts into her, a bit more gently this time, his hands smoothing over her hips in circles as she rocks over him slowly. Within minutes she can feel her orgasm build - the fourth -and Aaron isn’t far behind her when she comes for the final time that evening, this time screaming so loudly it most  _ definitely  _ woke the neighbors.

She’s practically in a daze when he finally stills beneath her. 

“I told you,” he murmurs as he pulls out carefully, still kissing her. “Just have to be patient.” 

“You must be proud of yourself,” Emily teases him from where she’s laying on his bed, flat on her back, her chest heaving. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk out of here tomorrow.” 

“That wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing,” he says, settling at her side with a hand on her stomach. 

Afterward, when she’s too numb and sore to move, he cleans her up - gently cleans their combined mess from between her legs and holds her against his chest, kissing her until she falls asleep, boneless and sated, a small smile on her lips. 

When she wakes up the next morning, she’s still in his arms, having had one of the best nights of sleep in her life. 

… 

The time after that, the entire DC metro area is under a tornado warning - an exceedingly rare occurrence, even in the hazy, humid months of summer. The sky quickly turns an eerie shade of green and gray and it starts to pour relentlessly right before he can make it inside the Ambassador’s mansion an hour before his shift starts. When he arrives at her door, he’s drenched to the skin through his raincoat, his shoes squeaking against the floor. How no one hears him … it’s a small miracle.

Emily laughs the moment she opens the door to let him in, because he looks like a soggy mess, already dripping all over the marble floors, leaving puddles in his wake. She throws her arms around his neck anyway, soaking her own clothes in the process, but she couldn’t care less. As she peels away the layers of wet fabric from his skin, dropping them on the floor, she wonders if it’s supposed to feel this good to be so  _ in tune _ with someone else.

With his lips fastened to hers he guides her onto the covered balcony of her room and fucks her right on the lounge chair as the heavy storm rolls in. The rumble of thunder drowns out their moans, and with their chests pressed together, Emily securely in his lap, Aaron pushes up into her in one swift motion, giving her no time to adjust to him. Her eyes widen in pleasure, head lolling back when his lips close around her nipple. “Aaron,” She moans, her body starting to quiver almost instantly. 

“Not yet,” he croons, and Emily moans, her head falling onto his shoulder, unable to hold off the familiar burning, tightening sensation building inside of her yet again. “Not yet, sweetheart. I didn’t run all the way through a tornado for nothing,” he adds with a laugh, and she’s laughing too, her body tightening around his.

“I -I-” Before she even realizes it she’s about to unravel again, he drives into her as her body breaks apart right in his hands. He kisses her, drags his fingers through her hair, pulling it just enough to make her yelp, his hands trying to get to any spare inch of her skin they can reach. 

Now it’s her turn, and when she sits back up again, her skin flushed and eyes glazed, she meets his burning stare, putting some force behind her hips. The chair scrapes the ground loudly, but luckily the thunder is starting to get louder and the rain is coming fast enough to muffle the noise.

“You feel  _ so _ good.” Aaron cups his hands around her hips and rocks her back and forth over him. He’s quickly decided this is his favorite way to fuck her, namely because of the view. “I’m not going to last long like this.” Emily only grins and leans back, resting her hands on his shins and his eyes practically roll back in his head. 

“Jesus Christ, Emily,” he mutters but keeps going, reaching down between her legs to stroke her as she moves over him, her hips setting the pace that makes his head spin. He’s fumbling because God, the way  _ she _ moves is enough to make him insane, but she’s moaning and clearly enjoying herself, and if she keeps it up, he’s not lasting more than a minute longer.

The rain is beating down hard enough that even the balcony isn’t offering them much reprieve anymore - it’s coming in even through the screened in porch. She’s close  _ again _ , he can tell by her erratic movements and arched back, her head thrown back and her hair everywhere. The wind starts to pick up as lightning rips through the sky, the entire DC horizon lit up for a few fleeting seconds as she comes with a scream, perfectly muffled by another ominous rumble of thunder.

Her body trembles uncontrollably this time; he’s worried she might fall right off of him on this chair. Aaron steadies her against himself, and spills into her, and once again the loud thunder drowns out both of them. 

…

Emily soon learns there are many pieces to intimacy; those pieces fit together like one thousand pieces of a puzzle. It’s not _just_ about sex - it’s never been _just_ sex, and they both know it. She _knows_ exactly what’s happening, despite every part of her fearing it. It’s the little moments between them - the knowing glances, the brush of his fingers against her cheek that seem so casual but _aren’t_ , the way he holds doors open for her, the subtle grin on her face when he passes her in the hallway and the way he somehow anticipates her emotions, the way he makes her feel safer than she’s ever felt in her life.

He casually stops by the pool when she and Allison are laying out together, ten days after Matthew’s funeral, and it only takes  _ one _ five minute visit for Allison to figure it out. 

“You two totally fucked while I was gone, didn’t you?” She asks from her position on her towel after he’s out of earshot, not even looking up from behind her sunglasses. Emily is watching his broad shoulders disappear as he gets closer and closer to the house. Allison has been so quiet Emily could have sworn she was sleeping. “Don’t even try to lie to me.” 

_ She concedes almost too easily.  _ “How did you know?” 

“My God, Emily, I wasn’t born yesterday,” she smacks her gum without more than a glance at Emily. “It’s written all over your face. His too.” 

“What is?” She decides to feign ignorance, yet she’s no stranger to what Allison is talking about. She’s seen it in his face too many times to  _ not _ know  _ exactly _ what she means. 

“You won’t agree with me,” Allison begins slowly, pulling her sunglasses down. “But he’s clearly in love with you, and I think you just might be in love with him too.”

“He isn’t,” Emily says almost too quickly, yet Allison is already rolling her eyes, completely aware that Emily didn’t deny her last statement. 

“I go on vacation for a week and I come back and you’ve fallen in love with the most straight-edge security guard you can find. What is the world coming to?” 

“I’m not in love with him, Allison,” she says feebly in an attempt to shut it down. “I told you, I don’t fall in love.” She’s reassuring herself at this point more than Allison. 

“Keep telling yourself that, Emily.” Allison flattens out onto her back again with a sigh. “We both know there was no chance you wouldn’t.” 

…

Of course they’re discreet, because they have no other choice, but behind closed doors all bets are off. There’s two-day long trysts in his apartment when he’s off work. Because the stifling, oppressive days of July are too hot to do much else, they don’t leave his bed except to make coffee (he actually buys a coffee maker when she starts coming over) and every so often, eat something. It leaves her sore  _ everywhere _ but she doesn’t mind - she secretly loves the ache it leaves behind - it’s almost a reminder of him. They lose track of time - it doesn’t matter anyway - and by the time the weekend is over, she can barely walk out of his apartment. 

Emily finds him at work, because of course she can. On more than one occasion she finds herself with her back against the wall of a cramped storage closet, with Aaron’s hand pressed over her mouth to muffle her cries when he takes her apart again and again. The first time he does it, she looks at him with wide eyes, a slight hint of shock, her body at his beck and call. He’s holding her up with one arm, thrusting into her, his eyes darkened because he’s  _ just _ as close as she is. 

“Shhhh,” he’d said, his hand gentle but his tone firm. “You  _ have _ to be quiet, Emily.” Her eyes had rolled back in her head, her muscles trembling as he had fucked her to completion, and ever since then, it’s one of her  _ favorite _ ways to come.

Sometimes, he slips away to her room, mostly when he’s on his way out for the night. They’ve gotten the security shift change patterns down to a science, and there’s a four minute, fifteen second window that no one is patrolling the floors which gives him just enough time to gather his things and hurry to her room.  _ Those _ nights are her favorite because he typically stays over, despite the inherent riskiness of the situation. 

She  _ hates _ herself for how each time she wakes up in his arms to the sound of his alarm clock, he solidifies just a little deeper into her heart, and Allison’s words ring true in her ears.

...

They don’t talk about what will happen in just a few more weeks when she inevitably will go back to Yale, and things will change. It’s one of many elephants in the room they choose to ignore. For the time being, it works, simply because it’s not acknowledged.  For _once_ she doesn’t want to run away from her own life. 

Something changes late on a Tuesday afternoon in mid July - he’s aloof, distracted, even distant. She’s smart enough to know it’s an excuse when he avoids her gaze, telling her he can’t stay after his shift when she mentions it subtly by the pool, with Allison rolling her eyes and hiding a laugh from across the deck. 

On Wednesday, he’s nowhere to be found, and Emily can’t fight the nagging ache that starts to grow in the back of her chest, persistent yet numb, and all she wants to do is hide in her room for the rest of the night, which is exactly what she does.

But on Thursday, he finds her sitting in one of the covered gazebos along the driveway of the property, a book in her lap. 

“Hey.”

Emily jumps - she didn’t even hear him coming - and the book flies off her lap. 

_ Aaron. _

Momentarily flustered, she claps a hand over her racing heart and glares at him. “You scared the shit out of me,” she snaps, her tone just slightly bitter, leaning down for the book and adjusting her sunglasses over her face. Right away, he notices the touch of hurt in her eyes, and he swallows with guilt. 

“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he says, looking business-like in his perfectly crisp suit and earpiece, his gun secured on his hip. “I thought you’d hear me coming.” 

“Didn’t think anyone would find me out here,” she mumbles. “No one ever has.” 

“How are you?” It’s as simple of a greeting as they come, yet with him, nothing is simple at this point. 

“Fine.” Emily glances up at him, trying her hardest not to look like she cares too much. He looks tired -  _ drained, _ even, dark circles under his eyes and a few lines in his forehead. She can’t help but wonder when he last slept. “Where’ve you been?”

He leans down, picks up the book, and sits down beside her. “My brother is in town unexpectedly.” It’s the way his voice strains when he mentions his brother that set warning bells off in her head. “I know I didn’t tell you, and I’m sorry.” 

“Is everything alright?” The touch of concern in her voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

“It will be. Just some things to work out,” he says evenly, yet she can’t tell who he’s trying to reassure.

She blinks curiously despite her best intentions, putting her book aside. “I didn’t know you had a brother. You’ve never mentioned him before.” 

“There’s not much to say.”  _ There’s a lot more, but no need to concern her with those matters.  _ “We’re not that close.” 

“Why not?” She immediately senses the hesitation in his voice, which only adds to her curiosity. 

Aaron shifts on the bench, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation. “A lot of reasons.” 

“Like?” 

“Age, for starters. He’s six years younger than me.” 

“ _ I’m _ younger than you,” Emily says sharply, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Seven to be precise.”

Aaron blinks, thrown off for a minute **.** “Sean is in college.” 

“So am I,” Emily challenges. “You have to forgive us. We tend to make things up as we go along … we don’t really think things through.” 

Aaron laughs - she has a point, yet there’s something oddly sobering about the fact that she’s younger than his younger brother. Not that it matters now.

“So what’s going on?” She looks interested, concerned even, her attention completely focused on him. 

“He’s having some trouble. I had to pick him up in New York on Tuesday night. He’s been here ever since.” 

“You drove to New York? Again?” Suddenly it all makes sense - his sudden, unexpected absence, the radio silence, his reticence. She’s not entirely surprised - he keeps things pretty close to the vest. 

“I’ve done it before.” 

“What kind of trouble?” 

“It’s a long story,” he begins, rubbing his temple to staunch off a growing headache. “It’s always a long story with Sean.” 

“So this has happened before?” It’s the way she says it that makes him think she’s no stranger to trouble. 

“A few times. My brother doesn’t always consider the consequences of his actions, or the impact they have on others.” 

“And you’re left to figure out the mess.” 

“Every now and then.” 

“I can’t imagine that’s easy for you.” Despite her interest, it’s obvious she’s still keeping him at a distance, and he can’t say he blames her. 

He silently wonders what she  _ isn’t _ telling him, because she’s now staring at her lap, wringing her hands. Before he can talk himself out of it, he wraps his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her against him as their lips meet in a kiss. It’s not a particularly heavy kiss, or a demanding one. 

Instead it’s reassuring, because something tells him in that moment she needs that, and she sighs appreciatively when his tongue presses against her teeth, deepening the kiss. His fingers dig into her hair, bringing her even closer against him, and her body fits against his almost too easily. 

“I’m really sorry,” he says and he means it. “I should have called you.” 

“It’s okay,” Emily says softly, her hand resting against his cheek before leaning in to kiss him again. The anger she felt just moments before is dissipating quickly.

When she pulls away, it feels like a loss, her body already starting to heat up despite her best intentions. She fixes her clothes, smoothes her hair. “I should be getting back,” she glances in the direction of the house. “I told my mother I’d have lunch with her. We’re supposed to come to a truce.” She can’t hide the disdain in her voice, and even though he notices, he doesn’t say a word about it. “Apparently I have to change my clothes, too.” She rolls her eyes, yet even she knows her shorts are just a bit too short for lunch with her mother. 

“Seems like a recurring trend,” Aaron says teasingly, with one more kiss to her cheek. “I’m leading a training with some of the new hires.” He glances at his watch, silently thankful he even remembers it because when he’s with her, most of his thoughts fall to the wayside. “I’ll walk up with you.” 

Sometimes, what’s meant to be hidden is displayed in plain sight.They walk together, just far enough apart so it doesn’t look suspicious, and anyone passing by might think of them as having a friendly conversation. If only they knew.

“I have an idea,” she says, brightly, suddenly stopping in the middle of the long driveway leading from the gazebo to the house. 

“What’s that?” He’s wondering what could have changed her mood in just minutes. But she’s smiling now, an almost devious glimmer in her eyes, her impending lunch with her mother temporarily forgotten. 

“So your brother is in town.” 

“He is.” 

“What are you two doing tonight?” 

Aaron stops in his tracks, giving her a questioning stare until he slowly realizes what she’s suggesting. “Emily,” he begins narrowly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Relax, Aaron. I’m not saying we take him to a  _ rager _ .” She rolls her eyes, and only then does Aaron notice the mark he’d left on her neck. It’s light, but will  _ definitely _ be more noticeable in a few hours.  _ Hopefully the Ambassador doesn’t see that.  _ “Even though I know a few good ones tonight.” 

“Hard pass on that.” 

“I was going to suggest a drink. Maybe two at the most.”

“You want to have drinks with me and my brother?” 

“ _ I _ want to have drinks with your brother,” she says wittily. “He sounds interesting.  _ You’re _ just an added bonus.” She winks, a smile playing on her lips. “Plus, it sounds like the two of you could stand to have a little fun.” 

“Are you - are you sure that’s a good idea? You’re not even 21. How are you going to get served in a bar?” He looks nervous, sounds even moreso, and Emily can’t help but laugh. 

“I have my ways,” she says coyly, and he doesn’t even want to know that means. 

“It’s  _ just _ drinks, Aaron. It’s not like we’re joining Fight Club.” 

“With my brother,” he retorts, and for a moment, he thinks about saying no. 

“Correct,” she says slowly, as if he doesn’t understand, and despite wanting to say no, he can’t refuse her. 

“I … I guess that could work,” he runs a hand through his hair thoughtfully. Truth be told, Sean is starting to drive him crazy in his apartment, and it’s only been a few days. A casual drink isn’t the worst thing they could do. “You have somewhere in mind?” 

“I know a place on U Street. You have a pen?” 

He hands her the one from his jacket pocket, and she scribbles the address onto a scrap of paper from her bag and passes it toward him. “I’ll meet you around 7.” 

Before he can stop her she’s up on her tiptoes, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before spinning on her heel quickly, hurrying toward the house with just a bit more bounce in her step than before. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 23 coming soon!


	23. Twenty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re going to fucking leave too,” she snaps, and it’s the fear in her face that makes his heart twist. “Just like the rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you all, from the very bottom of my heart, for all of the love and support over the last few months on this not so little project of mine. I’ve said it before but writing this is so therapeutic for me (sometimes the only way I can turn my brain off from the real world) and knowing some of you are still here reading makes me smile. I love and appreciate you all, so very much!

**Chp 23: The King of Anything**

_ So let me thank you for your time. _

_ And try not to waste anymore of mine _

_ And get out of here fast _

They’ve been seated at a hightop table by the bar for almost twenty minutes and Emily is running late. Aaron isn’t surprised, yet Sean is getting impatient. 

“So who is this girl, anyway?” Sean picks at the label on his beer bottle, already looking bored. “You’ve barely said anything about her. You sure she isn’t going to stand you up?” 

“Her name is Emily.” Aaron takes a sip of his own beer, purposefully avoiding his brother’s questions. He’s already said too much the last few days. If there’s anything he’s learned about his brother over the years, it’s to keep things close to the vest.

“I got that part,” Sean says impatiently. “That’s the only thing you’ve said about her at all.” 

“What do you want to know?”

“Something besides her name would be a good start. Is she hot?”

“You’re about to meet her,” Aaron says evenly, even though his face is full of disapproval at his brother’s last remark. “She should be here soon.” 

“Let’s start with basics. How do you know her?” Sean tries again, a bit more insistent this time. 

“Work,” Aaron retorts simply. “Don’t embarrass me,” he adds, and before he can say anything else, Emily walks in, looking around the crowded bar. She spots them almost instantly, giving a small wave. 

_ She’s nervous _ , he observes as she makes her way to their table, blushing when she stops in front of them. He wonders what changed - she was all about this just a few hours ago. 

“Hi,” Emily says almost shyly with a smile as Aaron leans down to give her a quick hug, then on afterthought, brushes his lips against her cheek in a quick kiss. She’s wearing the perfume she’d been wearing the first day he met her. She’s also wearing jeans - it’s only the second time he’s ever seen her in jeans. In fact, she’s wearing less makeup than usual, her hair casually blown out and loose around her shoulders. He can’t help but stare at her.

“Got here ok?” 

“Traffic was pretty bad.” She doesn’t know what to do with her hands so she shoves them in her jacket pockets; her gaze shifts between Aaron and the younger version of him on the opposite side of the table. 

“It  _ is _ rush hour,” Sean cuts in, and Aaron throws a look in his direction. “In the middle of DC. What else did you expect?” 

“Emily, this is my brother, Sean. Sean, this is Emily.” Aaron cuts in before Sean gets too snarky, yet Emily doesn’t seem fazed by his brother’s attitude. 

“A pleasure,” Emily extends her hand, charming and pleasant, and Aaron gives her an appreciative glance. How easily she turns it on and off is a complete mystery to him. 

“So how do you know my brother?” Sean asks a few minutes later as their waitress brings them a fresh round of drinks. 

“We work together,” Emily says easily with a brief glance at Aaron, as if urging him to play along, as he passes her a beer. 

“You work security too?” Sean’s eyes widen with a touch of disbelief. 

“Oh, of course not.” Emily laughs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I work for the Ambassador.” She then begins a long-winded explanation of her “job” as an intern over the summers while she’s at Yale, using just enough detail and the appropriate degree of apathy in her voice that Aaron realizes she’s used this story before. 

He has to cover his surprised expression with his fist as Sean buys right into it. He asks a few questions about Yale and her “work,” and it’s as if Emily  _ practiced _ on the way there, because she doesn’t even flinch, answering each one animatedly. Within minutes, Sean is completely starstruck by Emily. He isn’t the least bit surprised - he knows his brother well enough to know he’d be smitten immediately. 

They slip into a lively banter, going back and forth about 20th Century British literature and policy, debating each other with ease. Aaron contributes but mainly listens to their discussion, briefly wondering how his brother became such a good conversationalist.

As Sean breaks into another bout of laughter, Emily does too, her hand squeezing Aaron’s knee under the table. 

“I’ll be right back,” she says almost an hour later, sliding off of her barstool in the direction of the bathroom with a lasting glance at Aaron over her shoulder. 

…

“Aaron,” Sean says with a touch of admiration once Emily is out of earshot. “I’m proud of you.” 

Aaron lifts an eyebrow, the corners of his lips curling up with amusement. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that.” 

“I like her. You should talk to women more often.” Sean downs half of his beer with a smirk. “Or actually, just stick with this one. She’s smart,  _ and  _ she’s hot, too.” 

“I … I talk to women.” The heat rises to his face; leave it to Sean to call him out about his lack of a personal life. “Glad to hear you approve,” he adds, his tone laden with sarcasm. 

On the other hand, his brother has a point. Other than Emily, he can’t remember the last woman he’s been remotely interested in. 

“Can’t remember the last time you talked about one.” 

“It’s not like I haven’t been busy … you know. Working? Something you clearly know very little about.”

Sean ignores him, a callous grin crossing his face. “I can’t believe you get to rail her, Aaron.”

“Sean,” he immediately cuts him off. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Sorry bro.” Sean rolls his eyes. “You always were the chivalrous one. Not me.” He laughs at his own joke. “But really though.” He seems to have something else to say, but decides against it. 

“What now?” He’s curious now, because usually it’s what Sean  _ isn’t _ saying that  _ needs  _ to be said. 

“Does she know?” 

“About what?” Aaron hesitates, glancing in the direction of the restroom. He’s been expecting this to come up again since it came out the other day, when they’d been driving back from New York. He hadn’t meant to tell him, and now wishes he never did. Especially here. 

“You haven’t told her about the FBI?” He asks with a quizzical lift of his brow. ”Keeping secrets, I see.” 

“I’m not keeping secrets. I just haven’t said anything yet.” 

“So she wouldn’t be supportive of your career change?” 

“It’s not even a definite thing, Sean. I got an interview.” Aaron runs a hand through his hair, trying to stifle the sense of guilt that comes over him. He’d applied on a whim the other week before fully thinking it through. Maybe he shouldn’t have. 

From the corner of the restaurant he sees Emily exiting the bathroom, making her way back to the table. “We’ll talk about this later. _ Don’t _ bring it up.” 

Sean glances at him suspiciously. “There’s something about all of this you aren’t telling me. Something about her.” He quickly stops talking, because Emily is striding back to them, a smile on her face. 

Emily slides back into her seat, flashing a bright smile at Aaron. “So where were we?” 

...

Over three hours and four rounds later, Sean is nowhere to be found, leaving Emily and Aaron at the table together. He’d said he was going for a smoke almost a half hour ago, and has yet to return. It’s the first time they’ve been alone all evening, but Aaron is starting to get worried.

“Did you find Sean?” Aaron returns from the bar, putting their fresh drinks on the table - waters, because at this point, they’ve both had just enough to be past their limit.

“He made a friend.” Emily says with a touch of amusement as Aaron settles on the barstool next to her. “I saw them go outside a few minutes ago.” 

“He’s supposed to be staying  _ out _ of trouble” He glances around for him, yet it’s too crowded to see very far. 

Emily shrugs. “He seems like he’s holding his own tonight, right?” 

“He can get out of hand pretty quickly. I’m giving him another fifteen minutes to come back in before I go looking for him.” 

Emily sips her water but says nothing, a look crossing over her face. 

He reaches for her hand, linking his fingers through hers. “About earlier,” he starts, choosing his words carefully. He’s been wanting to ask. “About how we know each other … Do you use that story often?” 

“Every now and then. You think he bought it?” Emily bumps her shoulder into his playfully.

“Oh, yeah.” Aaron tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Completely.” Then before he can talk himself out of it, he asks the question that keeps lingering in his mind. “But why did you lie about it?” 

She shrugs, looking mildly apologetic and put on the spot. “I didn’t know how much you wanted him to know. You seemed uncomfortable with it earlier.” She taps her foot nervously against the leg of the barstool. “I thought about it a lot on the way here….I don’t want to make things complicated for you.” 

“Sean is the last person who should be judging anyone,” Aaron says quickly, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. His mind goes back to their conversation from before - his hesitancy certainly hadn’t been a confidence booster. “Sometimes he gets a little too opinionated. I’m not upset about it, Emily.” 

“Good.” She visibly relaxes, taking a sip of her water. “I like him though. He’s interesting.” 

“He’s one of the smartest people I know,” Aaron says heavily. “Maybe too much for his own good.” 

“My mother says the same thing about me.” Emily glances at him over the top of her glass. “It’s probably better if he doesn't know the truth, at least not now.” 

“I know.”  _ She’s right, or at least he thinks she is. _ He can always tell Sean later on, once they figure things out.  _ If that ever happens. _ “You hungry at all?” 

“I’m alright. I ate before I came.” She ignores the menu he waves in her direction. She looks  _ tired _ , he notices. Maybe it’s about time to pack it in. 

“All that alcohol isn’t starting to get to you?” 

“We could get out of here too,” she says unexpectedly, flutters her eyelashes at him, lifting her eyebrows suggestively, all but ignoring his last question. He pulls her to his side, tucking her head under his chin, holding her against him for a few moments. She smells like jasmine and slightly of smoke, and when she relaxes against him with a sigh, he can’t help but feel a slight lump rise in his throat. 

_ This is getting complicated _ , he thinks, yet he only pulls her closer. 

“What do you have in mind?” 

She doesn’t say anything, but just pushes her hip into his, a cheeky grin spreading across her face.

It’s the only impetus he needs before tossing a few twenties on the table to pay their tab. 

“Let’s go.” 

**…**

They’re barely out the door before Emily pulls him towards her, her arms curling around his neck possessively as they kiss.

Aaron already has her lifted her up, her legs wrapped around his waist, taking a few quick strides to the back parking lot, setting her down on the concrete wall, sliding her back to prop her up against it.

His mouth is already on her neck, dropping kisses wherever his lips can reach. His hands slip under her shirt and flick her bra clasp open before he pulls the neckline down just enough to palm one of her breasts in his hand. The cool night air hits her bare skin and she gasps just before Aaron’s lips are on her skin once again.

Emily inhales sharply when his lips catch around her nipple and his teeth lightly bite down, just hard enough to make her hold his head against her chest. “D-don’t stop,” she manages, suddenly breathless and oblivious to everything else around her. Aaron’s face is buried against her chest, his mouth still working, the fingers on his other hand pinching her other nipple. 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says, his lips against her pounding heart. He’s  _ enjoying _ this, she can tell, judging by how intensely his mouth continues to move, now fully focused on her other nipple and his hands are on the button of her jeans. 

Emily lifts her hips just enough to help him slide her jeans down, the concrete cold against the back of her thighs. Aaron’s attention is back to her chest, cupping her breasts in his hands and squeezing as his lips meet hers once again. 

“You’re beautiful, you know,” he murmurs against her ear, his teeth sinking onto her earlobe, his hand slipping between her legs once he’s pushed her jeans down past her hips. Emily blushes at the compliment - he does it often; it’s something she’s still getting used to. She  _ still _ doesn’t quite believe him, that much he knows. 

She attempts a response but the only thing that comes out is a moan. His hand then dips below the lace between her legs and her breath catches in her throat once again; her head falls against his shoulder when the heel of his hand hits her clit and his fingers slide inside of her, immediately curling up. It’s as if he memorized  _ exactly _ how she likes this, and when she finally opens her eyes and gets a glimpse at his face, he’s intensely focused, his stare dark and baring into hers. 

“Look at me,” he commands, and when she does, he cups her chin and with one hand and curves his fingers on the other hand up into her so intensely she cries out. “Feel good?” 

“ _ Aaron _ ,” she pants, her spine arching back almost painfully. It doesn’t take more than a minute or two before she whimpers into his shoulder, biting down to silence the sound that comes from her throat, and Aaron continues to stroke her with his thumb until she shatters, shuddering against him, her fingers clutching his shoulders for leverage. She has to push his hand away when she’s too sensitive for anything else. 

He only smiles, brushing her hair out of her eyes and kissing her forehead, cupping her face with his hands. 

She kisses him, her tongue sweeping through his mouth, her body pressed right up against his. Aaron buries his face in her breasts once again and Emily moans, her hips shifting up towards him, making her intentions clear. 

“Here?” He looks shocked, but he’s already starting to undo the buckle of his belt.

“Why not?” She breathes, reaching to help him with his belt. “I can be quiet,” she adds, winking.

“Somehow I doubt that,” he whispers, but clearly ready to give in, loosening his belt even further. 

It’s only when his own jeans are past his hips and her hand is wrapped around him, ready to bring him inside of her they hear a familiar voice and the scratch of shoes on the asphalt. A slurred voice suddenly calls out in the dark behind them. 

_ Fuck. _

“I see you there,” Sean suddenly appears out of nowhere, looking dazed and slightly confused. “Put it away and get a room!” 

“Shit,” Aaron curses under his breath, immediately backing away from Emily. With a sigh that sounds like equal parts disappointment and frustration, he quickly tugs on his pants, pulling them back over his hips and fixing his belt before turning to face Sean. 

“That you, Aaron? I’ve been lookin’ for you.” 

Upon closer inspection, it’s clear he’s  _ very _ drunk and he  _ reeks _ of weed.

“Jesus Christ, Sean.” Aaron runs a hand through his hair, stepping in front of Emily to shield her from Sean. “What are you doing here?” 

“Bro, get a room. Or at least go in the car.”

“Where’ve you been, Sean?” Aaron realizes he’s completely forgotten about his brother in the last twenty or so minutes. A few feet behind him, Emily is quickly putting herself back together - rearranging her blouse and fixing the button on her jeans, combing her fingers through her hair. 

“The girl just ran off, man. I liked her … she was cute. Wanted to give her my number.” He’s struggling to stand, a bereft look on his face, his eyes glassy and face flushed. “What are you two up to?” He laughs, because it’s clearly obvious what they were doing. 

Aaron doesn’t miss the look of discomfort that crosses Emily’s face when Sean leers in her direction.

“I need to get him home.” Aaron’s face is full of guilt and disappointment, not to mention the situation in his jeans is starting to get uncomfortable. “He’s going to become a problem if he doesn’t sleep it off.”

“Do you need any help with him?” Emily glances between both brothers awkwardly, feeling very out of place as she wraps her arms around herself. “He’s pretty drunk,” she adds as Sean stumbles over his own two feet in an attempt to walk upright. 

“Maybe.” Aaron slips Sean’s arm around his shoulder, his voice pinched as Sean tries to walk again, only to stumble a few more feet, nearly toppling over. “We need to get him to the car.” 

“Are you going to be okay to drive?” 

“I’ll be fine,” he says shortly, frustration rising. “Can you help me get him to the car?” 

Emily nods and takes Sean’s other side, and together the three of them make their way towards the side street he’s parked on, navigating through the crowds that are starting to accumulate at the start of last call. Sean is almost a dead weight between them, and they have to stop every few feet to make sure he isn’t about to fall, or worse, vomit all over them both.

He’s rambling, absolutely drunk, and desperately in need of some water. 

“I think I like you, Emily. I don’t know what you’re doing with my brother. You’re way out of his league.” 

“Sean,” Aaron attempts to get him to stop, but to no avail. 

“You should wife her up before she gets away, Aaron,” Sean reaches blindly in Emily’s direction. “You love her, don’t you. I can tell you love her.” He trips and stumbles, nearly taking them all down in a heap **.**

“Stop, Sean,” he says warningly, righting himself on his own feet before taking a sideways glance at Emily. She looks away, her eyes going to her shoes while still struggling under his weight. She undoubtedly heard him, but Aaron can’t read the expression on her face - but it makes him nervous. “And walk straight. You can’t act like this in public here. You’ll get arrested for public drunkenness.” 

“I’m all good, Aaron,” Sean drawls, his voice thick and slurred. “You worry way too much. You always have.” 

“I worry because I don’t have the money to fix yet one more of your problems if you get cited, you know.” Aaron says tiredly, stifling a yawn. “You can’t keep doing this kind of thing.” Luckily, they’re only a few feet away from his car.

“When you get that fancy job at the FBI, money won’t matter,” Sean says right back, not even realizing what he’s just said. He waves to a few people passing by. “Have a nice night,” he calls out, and for a few seconds, Aaron freezes in place, the sickening feeling of dread practically hitting him squarely in the face. 

_ Surely he didn’t just say it out loud _ . 

The color all but drains from Emily’s face when she hears it. Aaron hears him too, but it’s too late, because she’s already stepping away from them both. “When do you find out if you got it, Aaron?” 

Aaron stops immediately, the pit of his stomach suddenly in his throat, and his gaze goes to Emily. “Emily,” he attempts, but she doesn’t even make eye contact as she slips out from beneath Sean’s arm. 

“I think I’m going to take a cab,” Emily says sharply, turning away as quickly as she can. “It was nice meeting you, Sean. Goodnight, Aaron.” 

“What? Where are you going? We’re having a great time,” Sean slurs, completely unaware of what’s just happened, and Aaron stares between them helplessly for a moment. 

“Stop talking, Sean,” Aaron snaps, and Sean pouts, crossing his arms over his chest belligerently. 

“You always treat me like a little kid, Aaron.” 

“You never stopped acting like one,” He shoots back, turning back to Emily, who is already starting to walk away. “Wait here.” 

“You must have pissed her off, Aaron,” Sean mumbles, leaning against the car with exhaustion, but Aaron doesn’t even bother to turn around.

“Emily, wait.” He has to jog a few feet to catch up with her. He doesn’t have to see the look on her face to know she’s hurt. He isn’t so sure he even wants to.

“I’m taking a cab,” Emily pointedly turns to walk away, but Aaron is too quick, and he grabs her by the arm and turns her around, maybe too forcefully. “Keep your hands off of me, Aaron.” 

  
“Please don’t go,” he attempts weakly. Her eyes are wide; he can  _ see _ the distrust and disappointment clear as day. 

“Why? You have some other truth bombs you conveniently  _ forgot  _ to tell me about?” 

“Emily,” he begins, his patience waning. “I didn’t keep it from you. I just haven’t found the -.” 

“But you  _ did _ , Aaron. We  _ talked _ about it a few weeks ago, and then it was like some big secret. I’ve spent almost every  _ fucking _ night in your bed the last few weeks. Don’t tell me you didn’t have the chance to mention  _ anything.  _ You just  _ chose _ not to.”

“It’s not even a definite thing,” Aaron tries again. “You didn’t let me explain.” It comes out defensive, the exact opposite of what he’s trying to portray. “I have nothing to hide from you.” 

“You’re going to fucking leave too,” she snaps, and it’s the fear in her face that makes his heart twist. “Just like the rest.” She turns on her heel, making a run for it. 

“Emily, it’s not going to change any-”

“What’s with all the yelling?” Sean groans, grappling at the door handle to the car. “It’s making my head hurt.” 

“Shut up, Sean. Just shut up,” Aaron turns to his brother for a moment, only to turn back to see Emily halfway down the street. “Emily!” He calls after her, but she doesn’t turn around. “Stay here. Don’t move.” 

“Whatever you say, bro,” Sean groans, flopping back onto the backseat. 

“Emily!” He’s fast enough that he’s caught up with her now, grabbing her by the arm and turning her around again. 

“I told you not to touch me, Aaron,” Emily pushes him back, both hands slapping his chest. “Leave me the  _ fuck _ alone.” 

“I can explain.” He feels just as miserable as she looks. The summer air is thick and oppressive; he tugs at his shirt collar uncomfortably. The bars are starting to close, and the streets are starting to crowd even more with last call patrons stumbling around in various stages of intoxication. Some look completely wasted; he wishes he were one of them. Then he wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. 

“I don’t want to hear it.” Emily’s eyes are dark and wide, and he’s certain he’s never seen her look so angry. “I’m going the fuck home.”

“You two alright?” A bouncer gives him a warning stare, starting to walk toward them, his body angled, ready to come between Aaron and Emily if need be. “Maybe you should take this somewhere else.”

“We’re good thanks,” Aaron says coldly, barely looking in his direction. 

Emily barks a laugh. “Hardly, Aaron.” 

“Either way, figure your shit out somewhere else and not in front of my bar.” The bouncer scoffs, clearly annoyed but starts to slowly walk away. 

“Come on,” Aaron says, his tone coming out more pleading than asking. “Please let me take you home. You’re never going to get a cab right now anyway.”

He’s right - the streets are even more full than they were a few minutes ago. Emily looks around despondently, wishing she could melt into the sidewalk. “Whatever,” she says icily but follows him reluctantly. The only noise he hears is the sound of her shoes scraping against the cement. 

…

The silence in the car is deafening. Emily stares out the window, her body as close to the edge of the seat as it can be. She’s put as much distance between herself and Aaron as possible and hasn’t said a word since he’d started the engine. 

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Aaron says, chagrined, glancing in the rearview mirror at his brother in the backseat. 

“You’re right once again,” Emily snaps, still looking out the window. 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

“When were you going to tell me about the FBI?” She asks, the distrust flashing in her eyes. “Were you  _ ever _ going to tell me? Or were you planning on letting me find out the hard way?” 

“Of course I was going to tell you.”  _ It isn’t a total lie - he’d been figuring out just when might be the best time, but of course, it’s too late to think about what could have happened. He should have been honest from the beginning. _

“So you were okay with lying to me about it until you  _ figured out a good time?  _ When the fuck would have that been?” 

“If you’re so against secrets, why did you lie to my brother about how we even know each other?” He’s starting to get frustrated - the events of the last few hours, along with the alcohol he’s had - are catching up with him. “Before you start pointing fingers at me, look at yourself.” 

Emily sniffs with disdain. “Don’t put this on me, Aaron. This has nothing to do with me.” 

“It has everything to do with you. You say I’m hiding things, but what are  _ you _ doing?” 

“Only trying to make your life easier.” There’s a hint of sadness in her voice that wasn’t there just minutes ago. “Maybe this has all just been a big mistake.” 

Aaron clenches the steering wheel to prevent himself from saying something he’ll regret in the morning.

Sean lifts his head from the backseat groggily. “Shouldn’t you two just kiss and make up by now?” 

“Shut up, Sean,” Aaron says warningly. 

“Can we stop at Taco Bell, bro? I’m hungry.” 

Aaron rolls his eyes, and glances at Emily, who is chewing her nails, her leg practically shaking. Ignoring his brother, he exits off the highway and makes a sharp left. He doesn’t have the nerve to ask her what she means, but something tells him, he doesn’t want to know. 

By the time they arrive at the Ambassador’s mansion, Sean is passed out cold in the backseat again, his snores the only indication he’s still in the car with them. The car comes to a stop just past the South gate and Emily reaches for the door. 

“You can walk from here?” It’s somewhat of a farther walk than if he’d just dropped her off at the front entrance, but of course, there’s a chance someone will see them if he does that. He isn’t privy to the idea of her walking alone this late at night, even if it’s on property, but he doesn’t mention that to her, since she’s clearly in no mood. 

“You know I’ve done it before.” Emily doesn’t even look at him as she gathers her bag. “I’ll be fine.” 

He briefly looks at his brother, sound asleep and snoring in the backseat. “I had a feeling this would happen. I should have never brought him out.”

“I guess you’re right.” Her voice is cold and laced with defeat. 

“Emily, I’m sorry,” he tries again, his knuckles white around the steering wheel. 

Emily stares at her shoes. “I just want to go to bed, Aaron. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Yet she doesn’t move; they sit in silence for a few minutes. It’s heavy, uncomfortable, with too many words not being said. 

She’s the one who speaks first. “Just tell me one thing.” 

“Anything.” 

She glares at him, her gaze full of hurt. “When did you apply?” 

He swallows, stares straight ahead. “The day before we went to New York for the funeral.” 

She nods coldly. “The thing is, I don’t even care about the fact you applied. What I  _ do _ care about is the fact that you’ve gone out of your way since the first time it came up to keep it hidden from me.  _ That _ tells me something is wrong.” 

He reaches for her hand out of habit, but she quickly pulls it away, curling against the door frame again . 

_ “Don’t touch me, Aaron.”  _ She swipes at her eyes with her hands. “Please don’t touch me.” 

“I’m sorry for not telling you, Emily. I should have … I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

“But you did,” she says slowly, and he doesn’t have to look over to know she’s crying. “You kept this from me on purpose. That’s what I don’t understand.” 

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. Regardless of where I work.” He just wants to reach for her, to pull her into his arms. But he doesn’t, because she can barely look at him. “You know that.” 

She stiffens at his preferred term of endearment before reaching for the door handle, her shoulders trembling. “I  _ thought _ I did, Aaron. I don’t know anymore.” 

Emily slips out of the car, reaching for her bag, not even bothering to put on her shoes, but stuffs them in her bag. She takes off in a run, disappearing into the dark, and he angrily slams his fist into the steering wheel as soon as the door shuts behind her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 24 coming soon!


	24. Twenty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You remember what I told you in Paris, don’t you? I told you I’d do whatever I needed to keep you safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hi all, my apologies for the delay in updates. I wanted to get this out earlier this week, but this chapter gave me some trouble, and things have been nonstop since Monday. I’ve mentioned this before but I’m a teacher, and with the virus cases rising rapidly in my state, we’ve been on edge waiting to hear if we will still be in school or teaching remotely, which has been stressful to say the least for many reasons. Add the upcoming US election to the mix, and my brain is all over and nowhere at the same time. I hope you are all taking care of your hearts and minds this week and into next. Thank you all for the comments on the last chapter - they made me smile during some tough moments and I love you all dearly!   
> Without further ado, here we go.

**Chapter 24** : Dark Necessities 

_ You don't know my mind, you don't know my kind _

_ Dark necessities are part of my design and tell the world that I'm falling from the sky _

Her hair is still damp; her face is bare and free of makeup when he shows up at her bedroom door. 

Aaron is the last person she expects to see, and she immediately regrets answering the knock in the first place. But there he stands, stiff and stern, staring at her with steel eyes and little emotion. 

She hasn’t seen him since the disaster that was their evening with Sean almost an entire week ago. He’d called her the next morning, leaving a message that she  _ still _ hasn’t gotten around to listening to. He’d taken a few days to drive Sean back to New York; she'd done everything in her power to avoid him around the mansion in the days after. For both of them it’s an unplanned break, if it can even be called such a thing. 

But regardless of the anger that swells in her chest when she sees him standing there, she can’t help her sharp inhale or the way her knees go slightly weak. She almost wishes she didn’t feel anything at all. 

“What are you doing here?” Emily knots the belt on her robe a little tighter out of habit, shaking her head at the irony of it all. He’s obviously seen her in a  _ lot _ less, but she feels the sudden need to cover up in his presence. There’s a hint of bitterness in her voice she just can’t hide; she says a silent prayer he can’t see the dark circles that have set under her eyes. She hasn’t slept well, if much at all, since last week. 

Except he hasn’t said a word; he’s just shifting from foot to foot.“Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”

“You think that’s a good idea?” Emily blinks, and if he’s not mistaken, closes the door a few centimeters right in his face.

He blocks it with his hand. “It’s important, Emily.”  _ She clearly hasn’t forgotten about anything.  _ Not that he expected she would. 

“Is that so?” 

“Please let me in.” He looks mildly uncomfortable, his mouth pressed into a thin line, yet he subtly looks her up and down. Part of her is tempted to ask him to leave her alone.

“Why? “I’m supposed to leave with my mother in less than an hour.” She rolls her eyes, not bothering to hide her distaste. “She’s dragging me along to this Israeli Peace Deal signing agreement  _ thing _ at the State Department. She and the Prime Minister are old friends and he wants her to be there. I don’t know why she’s making  _ me _ go too.” Emily is slightly annoyed by the formalities and the fact that she’s giving up most of the day to appease her mother. “Actually, I do. She thinks it’ll  _ build my character _ to spend the day with a bunch of politicians I haven’t seen in years.” She scoffs when she recalls the conversation she’d had with her mother a few days ago about it - she’d initially flat-out refused, but the Ambassador was unrelenting, and they’d finally come to a compromise of allowing Emily to get an apartment in New Haven instead of living in the dorms that coming fall. 

“I know. That’s why I’m here.” 

“What’s wrong now?” She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Are you here to do my mother’s bidding?” 

“It’s not your mother’s bidding, Emily. But I need to talk to you.” 

It’s the look on his face that catches her attention – one she can’t quite place, but she can’t turn him away. 

**“** Of course it is,” she grumbles, but holds the door open a little wider for him to slip past once she’s certain the coast is clear, with no wandering eyes or ears. For a brief moment she questions  _ what the fuck _ they’re doing as he shuts the door firmly behind him. 

Once it’s just the two of them, the silence is heavy with everything that remains unspoken, the events from last week, the questions that neither of them can answer. 

“What are you actually doing here, Aaron?” She asks again, eyeing him warily as he leans against the door. “Your shift doesn’t start for a few hours.” 

“Are you almost ready?” It’s less of a question and more of a demand, and he checks his watch for the third time since showing up unexpectedly. It’s only then she notices he’s wearing  _ two _ comm units – one in each ear instead of just one like usual.  _ Weird,  _ she thinks, and tries to ignore the small pull of doubt in the back of her mind. 

“You’re like … forty minutes early.” She gestures to her damp hair and robe. “I’m nowhere near ready to go.” 

“How soon can you be dressed?” 

“Shouldn’t you already know the answer to that?” She asks almost breezily, and Aaron isn’t sure if she’s joking or furious with him. “You’ve certainly taken my clothes off enough times to know how long it takes to put them back on.” 

“Emily.” 

It’s the way he says her name, his reserve, the fact that he  _ still _ hasn’t told her why he’s even  _ there _ in the first place, that tells her what she’s known since she opened the bedroom door.  _ Something isn’t right _ . 

“ _ What,  _ Aaron?” It comes out harshly; her irritation is visible, clear as day. “What do you want? I’m really not in the mood for this today.” 

He stares at her, and the look on his face is enough to give her chills. It’s a mix of his unease, the way he’s standing at her windows with one eye glancing out and the other on her. His hand is resting on his gun, and she quickly notices there are two on his belt. His guard is up, he looks completely focused. 

_ What’s going on?  _

“There’s been a change of plans.” There’s weight in his voice, his movements just a little more intentional. He never moves from the window, yet his gaze never leaves her. 

“What do you mean, a change of plans?” She insists, crossing her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes questioningly. 

“Security is moving the departure time up thirty minutes. More if you can swing it.” 

“Is there a problem?” She disappears into the conjoined bathroom, her voice echoing against the marble as she digs through her makeup bag in search of some concealer to hide the dark circles under her eyes. She attempts to seem unbothered by his urgency, but she knows him well enough by now to know it’s not an act. 

He pauses, taking a deep breath. “What I’m about to tell you cannot be shared with anyone.” 

“Who am I going to tell, Aaron?” 

“Security has learned of some credible threats against the Israeli Prime Minister and his wife.” Aaron leans against the door frame of the bathroom as she applies her makeup. She makes it look so easy – the way her delicate hands twist open the various tubes and bottles, the way she artfully applies layer upon layer of color to her eyes, lips, and cheeks. Today, he can barely watch. 

“What do you mean, credible threats?” Her gaze meets his in the mirror; the mascara wand is frozen just centimeters from her eye. “I know him,” she adds in a small voice.  **“** Prime Minister Haran. I’ve known him since I was little. Someone wants to … is he in danger?” 

Aaron doesn’t know how much to tell her. He wants to protect her from it all, but she isn’t stupid, and something tells him the less he shares with her, the more she’ll eventually find out. And after everything that’s happened, he owes her the honest truth. 

“There’s been some intel suggesting a potential attack. We don’t know much more than that, or at least we haven’t been told,” he repeats again, much more patiently this time, trying to keep his own voice even. “We’re in constant communication with DCPD, the FBI, the Prime Minister’s security team, and anti-terrorism to ensure all goes smoothly. We’re taking an altered route, and extra security has been placed outside the State Department.” 

“What are you saying? What’s going on?” She’s all but abandoned her makeup now, her eyes wide, face pale. 

“I really can’t say much more,” he begins, but it’s as if she anticipated his answer and holds up her hand to cut him off. 

“Don’t feed me that bullshit, Aaron. I’m tired of your  _ fucking  _ secrets.” 

He blanches, struggling with just how much to share. “All I know is early this morning, we received word about the attack from the FBI. They’ve been analyzing the intel all day.” 

“Attack? What is this? A fucking movie?” Emily feels uneasy even though she’s doing everything in her power not to show it.

It’s not working. 

“This isn’t uncommon, Emily. Alarming, but not uncommon. We get things like this all the time, especially when foreign dignitaries are involved.” He tries to sound as impartial as he can to keep her calm, because her face is growing paler by the second. He knows she’s putting on a brave face. 

“Things like this?” She sniffs. “So then why is it such a huge deal  _ now _ ? Why today do you decide to add all these extra precautions and bells and whistles? Does my mother know about this?” 

“We’re following orders from the FBI and anti-terrorism units,” he says, more calmly than he feels. “Your mother is aware of the situation and has spoken to Prime Minister Haran.”    


“And they’re still going to do this?” 

“He’s ready to move forward with the signing.” 

“Of course he is,” Emily sighs. “I’ve known him most of my life. He wouldn’t back out now.” She pauses, running a hand through her damp hair. “

“I really can’t tell you much more than that.” He’s already said more than he should. “The FBI is handling it jointly with the State Department and the Prime Minister’s security teams.” 

She stiffens each time he mentions the FBI, and this time, she rolls her eyes with a sniff. “Looks like you’ll have something to talk about at your  _ fucking _ interview, then,” she snaps, turning back to her makeup. “After all of this they may as well just hand you the job.” 

Her timing couldn’t be worse. 

“And we’re back to this now? It’s just an  _ interview, _ Emily. Do you realize how much goes into actually being offered an entry level position at the FBI?” The frustration is rising in his voice, but she doesn’t care. 

“I wouldn’t know, Aaron. You kept that from me, remember? I had to find out from your drunk brother. Maybe you weren’t paying attention, but I haven’t forgotten.” She has to fight to keep her tone even; the lump in her throat that’s been there consistently since last week grows even larger. 

“You didn’t give me a chance to explain, Emily.” 

“There’s nothing to explain, Aaron. It’s probably for the better if you go, anyway.” She pointedly turns away from him, eyes on her makeup bag. 

“Stop,” he says strictly, enough so that she whirls around and stares right at him. “How can you say that?” 

“Stop what? Calling you out on the fact that you _hid_ this from me? On purpose?" 

“Damnit, Emily. I didn’t  _ hide _ it from you,” he snaps. “I admitted I was wrong. I should have told you from the beginning, and I’m sorry.” 

“It’s too late, Aaron. The damage has been done.” 

He takes a quick step toward her, cornering her against the sink, grabbing her wrists. “Stop,” he says again, frustrated not only at her but himself too.  _ This is a fucking mess _ . 

“ _ Don’t  _ touch me, Aaron.” She looks almost feral, as if she wants nothing more than to run in the opposite direction. 

“Listen to me, Emily.” He gives her a gentle shake. “After everything you’ve been through, I can see why you would –“ 

She squirms out of his grip, and he tries to catch her but she’s too fast for him, ducking underneath of his arm and moving across the bathroom. “What does  _ that  _ even fucking mean? Everything I’ve  _ been  _ through?” She wraps her arms around herself protectively, backing against the opposite wall. “I’m not some wrecked toy for you to fix.”

“I broke your trust,” he says simply, holding up his hands. “I know you’re angry with me.” 

“That’s an understatement.” 

“I promised you a while ago I wouldn’t, and for that, I’m sorry.” He looks tired, drained, his eyes dark. 

“You still don’t get it,” she says sharply, not bothering to hide the thickness in her voice. “I’m not mad about the fact that you applied, or that you got the interview. In fact, I’m not even mad. What I’m  _ upset _ about,” she adds with a pause, “Is that if you  _ do  _ get it, you’ll leave too and then -” she suddenly stops, as if embarrassed by her sudden outburst. 

“What?” He’s staring at her intensely. “Talk to me, Emily.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” she says softly, her bare foot tapping the floor in a nervous tick. “Forget it.” 

“But it does,” he tells her, and she stares at her bare feet. “It matters, and you know it does.” 

“I don’t know if I can do this, Aaron,” she admits slowly, her cheeks flushing with shame. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Any of this. Us. Whatever this is.” 

“Emily,” he says patiently, almost reverently. “No one is asking you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” 

“What  _ are _ we even  _ doing _ , Aaron?” She’s whispering now, and he’s almost positive he sees a tear beading in her eye. “What happens in a few weeks?” 

“We -” 

“What happens when I go back to Yale, Aaron? You think this will all just miraculously work out?” 

He sighs, glancing at his watch again.  _ Shit. _ They’re starting to run out of time. “Can we talk about this later, Emily, please? I need you to keep moving, sweetheart. Agent Pierce wants you and your mother out the door in the next twenty minutes. Preferably earlier.” 

“Right, the threat,” she says coldly, yet it doesn’t hide her apprehension. Turning back to her makeup, she puts a few inches of space between them, artfully painting her eyelashes with the mascara wand as if nothing ever happened at all. Aaron watches her with intrigue as she applies not one, not two, but three coats of the mascara. “I forgot.”

“Everything is under control,” he says, yet he’s not sure who he’s reminding. 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Emily tosses her makeup bag to the side and stalks past him back into her room. 

“We will do everything we can to keep you safe ,” Aaron repeats softly. “I wouldn’t lie to you.” 

It comes out too soon, and he wishes he could take the words back. 

She laughs without a trace of humor. “There’s the possibility of a  _ fucking  _ terrorist attack and you all just throw in a few extra agents and call DCPD and think everything will be fine? Somehow I doubt that.” She already has a bad feeling about all of this, no matter how calm he is, or pretends to be. “Maybe I just won’t go. Not like they need me there, anyway.” 

“I don’t think your mother will let you get away with that.” 

“Luckily for you, she’s not your problem. She’s mine.” 

“She’s the one who sent me up here personally.”

“Is that so?” Emily lifts an eyebrow, her lip starting to curl up in an ironic smirk. “If only she knew the truth.” 

He cringes at the thought. If you don’t come down with me, then yes, she is my problem.” 

“How do I even know you have any idea what you’re doing?” 

“We do this every day, Emily. All day long” Aaron catches her by the arm and sits on the edge of her bed, gripping her just tightly enough that she can’t pull away. He holds her in place between his legs, looking directly into her eyes. 

It’s the second time he’s touched her in almost a week. His fingers nearly burn right into her skin. He half expects her to twist out of his grasp but she doesn’t. Instead, she lets him hold her there for a few moments, and if she closes her eyes, it’s almost as if they’re back to the start once again. 

But she can’t, because if she does, she might kiss him. 

“Is it safe to go?” Emily isn’t immune to the dangers of her mother’s position. While she’s lucky to have been shielded from most of it, there have been a few instances over the years she’d rather forget. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” he says, drawing her in between his knees, his arms looped around her waist. Her heart starts to pound in her chest; she can smell his aftershave; all she wants to do is lean into him. 

“How can you say that, Aaron? Once we leave, it’s out of your hands.” 

“That’s why I’m coming with you.” He pulls her in just a few more inches, his hands splaying across her back. “I’ve been assigned to ride along with you and your mother to the State Department.” 

She hesitates for only the briefest moment, but he feels her relax the slightest bit, and his chest swells. “How’d you manage that one?” 

“I pulled a few strings,” he says softly, brushing his fingers over her cheek. “You remember what I told you in Paris, don’t you? I told you I’d do whatever I needed to keep you safe.”

_ That he’d keep her safe _ . She hasn’t forgotten, and she can’t help but remember he’s been true to his word. 

Her hand lingers at his hip, close to the gun secured on his belt. Emily rests her other hand on his shoulder, tipping her forehead to his to breathe him in. She’s  _ missed _ him, even though she’s spent the better part of the week angry at him. “You haven’t answered my question.” 

“What question?” 

“Are we going to be okay?” 

He wraps his hand around the back of her head, pulling her in to kiss her. It’s quick, but an answer nonetheless. She doesn’t pull away; she leaves her lips locked against his as her hands undo the knot in her robe, letting the soft material drop to the floor, settling at their feet. 

“Lucky for you, I’m good at my job,” he says before kissing her again. Aaron’s hands instantly slide to her lace-covered breasts, cupping them in his hands with a gentle squeeze and a soft groan escapes from his throat. “This is nice,” he says, admiring the new plum-colored set she’s wearing. 

“It’s new,” she says coyly as his hands hit the back of her bra strap. “Allison helped pick it out.” 

“Thank her for me when you see her.” He buries his face in her neck, dragging his fingertips down her back. His lips have moved from hers down to her collarbones; he breathes her in and trails his lips over the expanses of skin he can reach, and when his hands wander from her chest down her stomach and over her hips. “I like these too,” he murmurs, hooking his finger in the waistband, snapping the elastic against her skin. 

The heat builds and her body starts to ache familiarly for him. She kisses him fully, her tongue sweeping inside of his mouth and she presses herself against him suggestively. Aaron’s hand has dipped between her legs, cupping her over the lace that covers her there. She whimpers, because even that alone is about to push her over the edge, and he presses the heel of his hand against her, smiling into the kiss when her knees buckle. Emily rocks her hips against his hand out of habit. 

“Emily – Em –,” he pulls away, brushing the hair from her face. “Not now. We can’t.” 

She moans, her eyes closed. “Killjoy.” 

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he says gently, taking her chin in his hand, smiling at her reassuringly when she opens her eyes. “It’s time to go.” 

“Not yet,” she whispers hopefully. “One more minute.” 

“We have to get moving. I was supposed to be back downstairs by now.” 

“They won’t come looking.” 

“They  _ will _ . You have to get ready.” 

“I am ready,” she breathes, but her cheeks are flushed and the lipstick she’d just applied is already smudged. “Well .. almost.”

“Almost?” He lifts an eyebrow at her current state. “I’d say not quite.” 

“I can be ready in five minutes.” 

“Make it two.” 

She saunters over to the closet with an extra sway in her hips, and Aaron’s throat goes dry when he gets another full length view of her body.  _ Stop staring at her _ , he chastises himself, even though it’s not even worth it, because he can’t tear his eyes away. 

“What do you wear to a Peace Deal signing anyway?” Emily asks no one in particular, yanking the door of her massive walk-in closet open before disappearing inside for a minute. She returns with a skirt in her hands, holding it up with an apprehensive look on her face. “This will work, right?” 

“I’m not the best person to ask.” 

“So what do you think of the skirt? Too much? Too short?” 

“It’s nice,” he offers cautiously, clearly out of his element. 

“You’re so helpful,” she quips sarcastically, zipping the skirt up and over her hips and tugging at the hem. The fabric is unforgiving; she’s definitely gained a few pounds since starting at Yale in the fall. She pinches her stomach, sighing with disappointment before turning in the mirror to inspect every flaw she can discern. She’s halfway through a string of negative self talk when he clears his throat, bringing her back to earth . 

Aaron is still staring at her, not even bothering to hide it this time. 

“You gonna keep staring over there?” Emily is watching him, slightly amused. She turns to the side, examining her profile in the mirror. “This looks like shit.” It’s off in seconds and she’s already critiquing the next item in the pile - a dress this time - an expensive one she has yet to wear once. She frowns at herself in the mirror, tugging at the fabric. _You’ve really let yourself go, Emily_ , she says to herself as she does a 360 turn. 

“Whatever is going through your mind, it’s wrong,” he tells her. He’s still sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her. 

“You have no idea what I’m thinking, Aaron.” 

_ She’s right, and that’s part of the problem.  _ “You’ll look beautiful in whatever you wear,” he says softly, checking his watch once more.

She laughs this time, pulling one more dress over her head and checking the mirror. This one is even worse than the previous two. 

“I liked the first one,” Aaron says appreciatively from his place on her bed. “Wear that one. The skirt.” Glancing at his watch, he frowns. “And hurry up. We need to leave soon.” 

She’s about to argue when his phone rings, and she freezes.

“Hotchner.” He keeps his tone neutral as Emily tugs the original skirt up and over her hips, her eyes on him expectantly. “Last I checked, she was almost ready. Not sure what the holdup is.” He glances at Emily, who gives a sly wink. “Of course, sir. Yes, all protocols will be implemented.” He pauses, hoping she can’t hear the voice on the other line. “Miss Prentiss knows of the time change. She’s not aware of the details. It’ll be just a few minutes, sir. Yes, I understand. Of course. If she’s not ready in 5 minutes I will go check again. Got it.” 

Snapping the phone shut, he stands up, all business this time. “It’s time to go, Emily.” He doesn’t want to think about the brusqueness of his superior’s voice, the weight behind his tone, and now  _ he’s _ worried too, but he can’t  _ ever _ show her that. In the minutes he spends processing the call, she’s made moves, because she’s stuffing her wallet into a different purse and slipping her feet into a pair of low heels.

Emily is dressed and styled, without so much as a hair out of place. “I’m ready now.” 

He kisses her once more, quickly, yet long enough to show his appreciation because she does in fact look breathtakingly beautiful. “You know I will do anything needed in order to keep you safe, right?” 

“I know.” She brushes her fingertips against his cheek, almost too gently, and she realizes in that moment she’s forgotten all about the entire debacle with Sean last week. 

“I’ll see you downstairs.” With a lingering final kiss, he heads for the door. “Don’t take too long.”

“I won’t.” 

Aaron leaves first, and once it shuts behind him, she knows it’s time. 

When Emily hurries down the stairs a few moments later, not a hair out of place, she can’t help but roll her eyes at the near spitting image of herself standing just a few feet away. Her mother is waiting by the door, coiffed and pristine. “I was worried you weren’t going to show, Emily.” Her voice is cool as ice. “Prime Minister Haran would be disappointed not to see you.”

“You and I both know you wouldn’t let that happen, Mother,” Emily retorts just as icily, keeping her eyes forward as they walk into the mid-morning summer sunlight. Aaron is waiting by the line of cars in the long driveway, and even though his sunglasses hide his eyes, she knows he’s staring at her. 

_ How could he not?  _

“Do you remember spending time in Israel when you were eight?” 

“No, Mother, I don’t.” Emily stares right back at Aaron, the uneasiness starting to build once again. He’s one of several agents flocked around the cars, and their sheer presence makes her anxious almost immediately. “You can remind me on the way.” 

“Good morning, Agent Hotchner,” her mother all but chirps, either blissfully unaware or too good at faking things. Emily guesses the latter. Her mother would never show her own fear, or let on that  _ anything _ was even slightly wrong. 

“Good morning, Ma’am. Miss Prentiss,” he says with a nod, all stoic and solemn. 

The day is too beautiful; the air is too calm. Even though it’s the middle of July, it’s not even unbearably hot. The perfect temperature; the perfect day, without as much as a cloud in the sky. It’s almost  _ too _ perfect.

As she climbs into the limousine with him holding the door, she can’t help but shake the impending sense of dread that maybe, just maybe, something awful might happen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 25 coming soon!


	25. Twenty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What the fuck are you doing, Aaron?” Emily screams again, not even caring about the complete lack of discretion, or who hears her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. I hope you are all having a good week, or at least a tolerable one, especially those of you in the US, with everything that’s ahead of us in the next few days. Take care of yourselves, my friends. Thank you for all your sweet comments about the last chapter - they make my day, for real. Things are about to get complicated for our two favorites, not that anything ever wasn’t complicated. So here we go. 

**Run:**

_ Light up, light up, As if you have a choice. Even if you cannot hear my voice. I'll be right beside you, dear _

_ Have heart my dear. We're bound to be afraid _

_ Even if it's just for a few days. Making up for all this mess _

Aaron senses the palpable tension between both Prentisses the moment he takes his seat in the passenger side of the limousine as Emily and her mother settle in the back. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think they were both oblivious to the situation at hand. Both look completely indifferent to the other’s presence, yet he can’t help but notice the uncanny resemblance between the two as their eyes stare daggers at each other. 

He does one final check of the limousine, as one of the more seasoned, higher ranking security agents **,** Agent Bradburn takes the driver’s seat after giving him a stiff nod. Aaron doesn’t know him well, but he’s secretly grateful to have someone else there who knows what they’re doing, should the need arise. 

As the procession begins to move, the tension only grows **.** In fact, it’s thick enough to cut with a knife. For the first ten minutes of the trip, the car is silent. 

He pretends not to notice the fact that Emily has put as much distance as she can between herself and him, settling on the far end of the backseat. A quick glance in the rearview mirror tells him everything he needs to know - she’s woefully uncomfortable in the current setting, and he can’t really blame her. She’s biting her lip, he observes, her arms crossed defensively across her chest, legs crossed at the knees and angled away from her mother. The Ambassador is well aware of Emily’s discomfort yet does nothing to acknowledge it; she flips through a thick folder on her lap as they inch through the city towards the State Department. 

Aaron keeps his eyes forward, focused intensely on the road and his comm unit in his ear. The traffic is relatively quiet so far, which is almost unnerving given the threats. They’re receiving real-time updates and communication from multiple intelligence sources, yet it doesn’t do much to quell his apprehension. Anything could happen, with very little warning. 

It’s Emily who speaks first, much to his surprise. 

“Where’s Prime Minister Haran and his wife?” she asks her mother without sounding very interested, but it’s just so  _ uncomfortable  _ in the damn car, at least it breaks the tension. 

“They’re riding behind us in one of the other limousines.” Ambassador Prentiss smooths her hair. “I told them we would see them upon arrival. I wanted a few moments alone with you. It’s like you do everything in your power to avoid me.” 

Emily rolls her eyes; Aaron suddenly wishes he wasn’t in the limo with the two of them at all. “You mean you actually  _ want _ to have a conversation with me, Mother? That seems so unlike you.” 

“When we return this evening, we’ll discuss the terms of our agreement.” Elizabeth crosses her ankles primly, but wrings her hands in her lap. There’s a touch of disdain in her voice, and something else that sounds like disappointment. It’s a tone Emily knows all too well, yet new to Aaron, and he doesn’t like it. “You’ve almost fulfilled your responsibilities. I’ll have Olivia start making a list of suitable apartments within a safe distance of Yale’s campus that are  _ suitable _ for you.” 

“I’m glad you’re happy for once,” Emily sniffs, staring out the window as the buildings fly past in a blur of grey. “Tell Olivia I can do it myself.” 

“Nonsense. She gets paid for a reason. Besides, I trust her judgement. But before that happens,” her mother says pointedly, clasping her hands to her chest. “There are some other things I’d like to discuss.”

“Such as? What about our original agreement.” 

“Don’t be obtuse, Emily. You know  _ exactly _ what I’m referring to.” 

“I’m really not in the mood for this today, Mother.” She wishes she’d never agreed to  _ any _ of this in the first place. 

“Have you given any thought to the events that occurred just a few weeks ago? Or have you somehow managed to forget about that too? Forget and move on like nothing ever happened?” 

_ Of fucking course she would bring this up _ , Emily thinks. Her mother is, of course, referring to the situation with Matthew and John. It seems like ages ago even though it’s only been a few weeks; her heart twists at the mention of her friend she isn’t even entirely sure she’s properly grieved. “Mother, can we not do this here?” Emily doesn’t look away from the window; she swallows the rising lump in her throat. “Please? Not today.” 

Elizabeth all but ignores her with a wave of her hand. “I mean really, Emily, what on earth were you thinking? You  _ surely _ knew better. I taught you better than that. Had I known what  _ really  _ happened I would have -”

“ _ Mother,”  _ Emily hisses through clenched teeth. “Please stop.” 

“This isn’t something you can just shrug aside like everything else, you know.” 

“I’m not shrugging anything aside, Mother.” Emily wishes she could disappear into the floor. This limousine doesn’t feel big enough for all of them.

“Have you considered therapy?” Elizabeth lowers her voice, but in the tight confines of the car, Emily knows it isn’t doing much to conceal anything. She may as well just say it all out loud for everyone to hear. “I think you may find it beneficial,” she continues, and Emily wonders what would happen if she just told her to  _ fuck off _ . 

Aaron glances in the rearview mirror again and catches a glimpse of Emily biting her nails to the quick. He’s heard every word of their exchange, surely Agent Bradburn has too, even though his expression is emotionless. It takes almost all of Aaron’s willpower not to turn around and ask his boss to leave her daughter alone. 

“I don’t need therapy, Mother. I need you to  _ stop _ talking,” Emily mutters. She’s on edge after her conversation with Aaron - how could she not be - and even though things have been calm the last twenty minutes, she still feels nauseous and sick at the thought that something could go  _ terribly wrong _ in just a matter of seconds. 

Elizabeth is unphased, scowling at Emily biting her nails. “Really, Emily, you’re going to destroy your -” 

“Mother, I swear to God if you don’t  _ shut up- _ ” 

“Who raised you, Emily? You’re acting like an ungrateful-”

“Excuse me, Ma’am,” Aaron cuts in from the front seat when he gets a glimpse of the traffic that is starting to build. “There is some traffic up ahead that’s going to delay our arrival time. We’ve put a call into their security letting them know.” It’s an attempt to redirect the conversation, but miserably fails. 

“Thank you, Agent Hotchner.” Elizabeth acknowledges him briefly and turns back to her daughter. “Emily,” she begins slowly, clearly enunciating each syllable. “This is  _ not _ something you’re going to just brush aside,” she says again, this time more severely. “Have you  _ talked  _ to anyone about this? Speaking to a qualified professional is far from the worst thing you can do. Someone that can help you work through this …  _ traumatic experience.”  _

“Damnit, Mom,” Emily seethes, clenching her teeth. “ _ What  _ do you not understand about not discussing this  _ here _ ?” She crosses and recrosses her legs, shifting in the stiff leather seat, reaching for one of the tiny bottles of water in the cupholders.  _ Get me the fuck out of this car.  _

Aaron shifts uncomfortably in the front seat, wishing he didn’t have a front row seat to this entire exchange. He doesn’t dare look in the mirror this time. 

“Fix your hair,” the Ambassador says coolly as the car exits off the highway, less than minutes away from their final destination. “It’s starting to frizz.” 

There are a few more moments of awkward silence, then Agent Bradburn, taps his communication unit against his ear and suddenly brakes the limousine, veering sharply to the left. In the distance, there’s the sudden whine of sirens, and Emily’s stomach drops to her feet.  _ This isn’t good. _

“Protocol red! This is Agent Bradburn, we’ve just received confirmation of a planned threat to the procession. All units be advised, there is an imminent threat. We’re turning around now.” He’s speaking into his wrist now, his link to the rest of the security team,  _ wherever _ they might be.

Elizabeth is suddenly at attention, her face pinched and eyes wide. “Agent Hotchner?” She says, realization and dread washing over her face. “What’s happening?” 

Aaron’s face darkens, his eyes meeting Emily’s in the rearview mirror. “Ma’am, Miss Prentiss, we’re going to need to turn around.” His mouth is pressed into a thin line; and his hand instantly goes to his gun, yanking it from the holster on his belt. 

The car brakes and then backs up with a jolt, and Emily has to grip the leather cushions so she doesn’t fly halfway across the backseat. It makes a U-turn, and her stomach flips nauseously as Agent Bradburn steps on the gas, traveling a few feet then suddenly breaks violently. 

“Why are you stopping?” Aaron barks nervously, looking out the windows and craning his neck, yet can’t see a single thing.

“They’re stopping ahead too. There’s nowhere to go,” Bradburn snaps back, gesturing to the throng of cars that have started to build ahead of them. “I can’t just drive into them.” 

“This isn’t good,” Aaron says grimly, because they’re about to drive right into it, and Bradburn is right - there’s  _ nowhere  _ to go. “Where the  _ fuck _ is the DCPD?” 

“Stuck in the -” Bradburn tries to reply, but he’s interrupted by the staccato pelt of gunshots ringing through the air.

Emily chokes on air when the first round fills the air, just narrowly missing them, but taking out a few officers on scooters flanking the sides of the limousines. Within seconds there’s another round of bullets and a few of those  _ do  _ hit their limo, and in the distance she hears the sound of splintering glass in the distance, the shriek of brakes, and the thud of bodies hitting the pavement. Aaron’s head whips around, their eyes locking for only a brief second. “Get down and don’t move,” he orders to both of them, his eyes flashing dangerously.

“Isn’t this thing  _ fucking bulletproof?” _ Emily hisses, her voice sounding a lot calmer than she really is, unable to breathe as the fear starts to grip her faster than she can process.

“The bullets can’t break the armored metal,” he shoots back, but he’s not even the slightest bit convincing. “You need to get down and cover your heads,” he says again, more forcefully.

Bradburn’s voice cuts through the chaos. “I’m gonna try to cut past this,” he says determinedly, even though it’s pointless to even try.  _ They’re stuck.  _

“There’s nowhere to go,” Aaron repeats the other agent’s word from just a few moments earlier, trying to keep his voice low. 

Emily meets Elizabeth’s gaze, and the fear in her mother’s eyes is evident as the limousine backs up a few feet, the tires squelching against the road. “What the fuck is happening?” 

“This is Agent Hotchner, be advised we’ve been hit. I repeat, we’ve been hit. We need backup and an emergency response team immediately!” 

Somehow in the chaos she’s managed to crawl across the seat, and her mother wraps her into her embrace, their dark heads bent together as the limo all but stops, stuck without anywhere to go. Emily uncharacteristically clings to her mother, tears rolling down both of their faces as the limo is suddenly sprayed with bullets this time, and it nearly makes her nauseous. One hits a tire and with a wash of dread, Emily remembers what Aaron said about the threats. 

_ I told you I’d do whatever I needed to keep you safe.  _ She swallows hard.  _ What if he can’t? _

“What about Haran?” Emily whispers, and her mother shakes her head. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know which car he was in,” she says desperately, and Emily can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for her.  _ She never signed up for this _ .

_ It wasn’t just a threat. This was planned. It was planned from the beginning. Aaron was right. _

Seconds seem like hours, and minutes feel like eternity as the cars are smattered with one more round of bullets. Despite the armored metal, each one seems to get closer and closer, and Emily feels whatever is left of her composure begin to wane. In the distance, she can hear the wail of sirens approaching louder and louder, but it doesn’t seem like  _ nearly enough _ .

“Where are they coming from?” Bradburn hollers from over the noise. “I can’t see a thing.” 

“I don’t know but can’t hold them off much longer,” Aaron fights to hide the panic in his voice, and the shrieks from the backseat are all he can think about, yet he can’t turn around to see the fear in their faces.  _ Not yet _

“I think some of them were hit. “It looks like there’s still two out there.” 

“What the fuck is happening?” Emily pulls away from her mother, crawls across the backseat again, and when she’s within reach of him she grabs his shoulder to pull him around to face her.

“Get back,” Aaron yells back, shrugging her off of him forcefully. “Just get the  _ fuck  _ down Emily.” He turns his wrist over again, shouting desparately into his communication unit. “We  _ need _ backup,  _ now _ .” Before he can talk himself out of it, he’s reaching for the door handle. 

“Are you out of your mind, man?” Bradburn hisses from his position in the front seat. “Don’t be stupid.” 

“We’re running out of time,” Aaron shoots back, reaching for his gun. “We can’t keep waiting here.”

This time it’s Emily who tries to stop him, because she knows exactly what he’s about to do. 

“Are you fucking crazy?” Emily grabs him by the collar, her fingers wrapping around the material yet he’s too strong, and she barely has a grip before he pulls himself free, his hand reaching for the lock on the passenger door again, ready to push it open. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Aaron?” Emily screams again, not even caring about the complete lack of discretion, or who hears her. “Please don’t open the door,” she pleads helplessly. “You’re going to -” 

In one swift, well-timed movement, Aaron opens the passenger side door despite Emily’s loudening screams and Bradburn’s objections, and quickly fires three shots with near perfect precision. From her position just behind him, Emily watches as the last shadowy figure in the distance crumples to the ground, the automatic weapon flying out of his hands and clattering onto the concrete. 

When he turns around again, Aaron’s chest is heaving, his face wet with sweat, his eyes dark and what she sees gives her chills.

Perhaps for maybe the first time, it’s fear she sees in his eyes. 

...

The air is heavy; she hears even more sirens in the distance. Emily takes a deep breath, one she’s been holding since the gunfire started, her entire body trembling, her movements uncoordinated. Aaron leans over the back divider, and she has to look away when she sees his face. There’s blood all over his face, stemming from a huge gaping, hideous gash in his forehead. How he got it, she has no idea, and she isn’t sure she wants to find out. 

“Are you both alright?” He’s reaching into the backseat; Emily doesn’t doubt that hand is for her, and it takes almost all of her composure not to take it. Beside him, Agent Bradburn is coughing, reaching for his radio and yelling something about EMT response, giving their exact location.

_ A little late for that, _ Aaron thinks, saying a silent prayer of thanks that Emily isn’t hurt, and from what he can tell, neither is the Ambassador, luckily. They both look terrified and disheveled, but okay. Aaron’s ears are ringing; he can barely decipher anything except Emily’s face, and her mother’s just inches away in the background.

“Yeah.” she answers for them both, her chest heaving, adrenaline coursing through her body. She’s trying to regulate her breathing yet she can’t because her heart is pounding too hard. Coughing violently, Emily lowers her head, trying not to vomit right there on the floor. 

“Are you sure? Don’t try to talk,” Despite his condition he’s all business, reaching over the divider again, this time for the first-aid kit in the backseat. “EMT’s are on the way.” 

“We’re fine,” Emily croaks, lifting her head and getting a closer look at his face. “I can’t  _ fucking _ believe you,” she whispers, just loudly enough for him to hear, and she sounds  _ so  _ angry he has to look away. 

“I’m fine,” he repeats her exact words, except doesn’t sound even the slightest bit convincing, and when he reaches out to her with the first aid kit, she tosses it aside and takes his hand instead this time, the 

“You could have been -”

“I had to,” he whispers, cutting her off and squeezing her hand. “Deep breath,” he reminds her because she’s still struggling to control her rapidly beating heart. “Deep breath. It’s over.”

She squeezes his hand back even though she knows she shouldn’t.

_ And what they don’t notice is her mother’s eyes on them the entire time, her hand pressed against her mouth, her eyes dark with realization.  _

…

“You should let someone check you out.” 

Emily lifts her head from her hands to see Aaron standing in front of her, his face still dirty and lined with worry. She’s been perched on the seat of the battered limousine, her legs hanging out the door, her shoes dangling from her feet, for the last twenty minutes as the hoards of officers - uniformed, plain clothed, and suits - secure the scene.

He’s finally made his way back to her - she knew he would. Emily rubs at her temples and stares blankly ahead. “I’m fine,” she insists a little too sharply. “I don’t need it.” 

“You sure about that?” He offers his hand, knowing she’ll ignore it, which she does. “Come on. I’ll take you to one of the medics. Just to be sure.” 

“Seriously,  _ Agent Hotchner,”  _ She puts just enough emphasis on his formal name to tell him she’s not in the mood, and in case anyone might be listening. “There really is no need. I’m  _ fine. _ Maybe you should take your own advice.” 

“Please,” he chokes, and when she looks directly at him, she sees the bags under his eyes that weren’t there just a few hours ago.  _ That’s still fear in his eyes. It has to be.  _

“Aaron,” she starts again, her voice lower this time. “I really don’t think it’s necessary.” 

“It would make me feel better if you saw a medic.” 

“You’re the one that’s bleeding,” Emily says quietly. There’s a two inch gash in his forehead that’s been hastily covered with gauze, a few cuts on his face. His jacket and collar are both torn and stained with blood. “A lot, actually.” She moves her feet out of the way, saving her expensive shoes just in time before blood drips onto the pavement.

“I can wait.” He swipes at his forehead and winces. “It’s not that bad,” he attempts, but judging by the amount of blood that comes back, he knows better. 

“I’m not going to -” 

Quickly cutting her off, he crosses his arms over his chest. “The sooner you get checked out, the sooner they’ll take care of me.” He looks at her expectantly and holds out his hand again. 

“Fine.” She concedes, and with an exaggerated sigh, lets him lead her over to the ambulances. 

...

Sure enough, she’s lucky enough to have escaped without a scratch. The paramedics remind her to take it easy for a few days, but she’s hardly listening by the time they’re done checking her over. Aaron is just a few feet away, watching their every move with a protective stare despite looking pretty beat up himself. He’s well aware of her distaste of medical personnel of any kind. She clearly is uncomfortable with just how close they are to her, even with good intentions. Emily does her best not to flinch as they take her pulse and blood pressure, check her for a concussion, and clean out the few scrapes she’d gotten in the entire ordeal. 

“Happy now?” Her voice is hoarse as he walks her back over to the waiting limos, making sure he stays an appropriate distance away. “I told you I’m fine.” 

“I had to be sure.” 

“You should probably get that looked at,” Emily says, the air suddenly thick and hazy. Her stomach churns at the sight of his bleeding forehead, which has taken several gauze pads to finally cease. “It looks terrible.” 

He gives her a look, and she shoots it down immediately. “I’ll be  _ fine _ , Aaron. I’m going to sit over there and wait until I can get the  _ fuck _ out of here.” 

...

From across the parking lot a half hour later, she watches as the medics tend to Aaron this time. From what she can tell, he’s pretty banged up - there are two of them tending to the cut on his forehead, someone else is cleaning the blood off his neck.  _ It’s certainly taking awhile.  _

A bottle of water is pressed into her hand and she’s given a blanket, which she frowns at given the fact it’s the dead middle of July. But she’s shivering, so she takes it. Even though there are numerous heavily armed agents guarding closely nearby, she’s never felt more alone, or more terrified. 

Soon enough her mother is at her side, a similar blanket draped around her shoulders, a small bandage wrapped around her wrist. “Agent Hotchner and Agent Bradburn are going to the hospital for stitches and x-rays.” 

“They’ll be okay,” Emily responds just a little too quickly. It’s not a question or an answer, it’s a reassurance to herself. Struggling to keep the emotion out of her voice, she takes a shaky breath and turns her eyes from Aaron’s direction. With her mother there, she  _ has _ to be careful. 

“Yes dear, of course they’ll be okay.” Her mother pauses, as if gathering her thoughts. “They saved our lives, you know.” Elizabeth touches Emily’s shoulder, and Emily recoils as if she’d been burned. “We’re lucky they were there.” 

“I guess so. That’s their job, isn’t it?” She laces her voice with contempt, because she has secrets to keep, and her mother has an uncanny ability to see right through her.  _ Show no emotion, Emily.  _

“That, among other things.” Elizabeth’s tone is clipped, exhaustion on her face - she clearly doesn’t have the energy to argue with her daughter right now. But it’s the hidden meaning in her words that makes the hair on the back of Emily’s neck rise. 

She stiffens at her mother’s tone;  _ surely _ she can’t know of anything. Yet she can’t bring herself to look at her either, so she lowers her gaze and stares at her shoes. She’ll deal with that later. 

“Can we go home soon, please?” 

“Yes, dear. There’s a car already on the way.” Her mother turns to leave, and Emily follows, but glances back over her shoulder at Aaron, and their eyes meet once again. 

_ Thank you _ , she mouths, and he only nods before the medic unknowingly steps between them. 

_ … _

Upon arrival at the mansion, they’re immediately debriefed, and they learn the imminent details of what happened earlier that morning. As Aaron had explained that morning, the threat was indeed directed at the Israeli Prime Minister. 

“So we were just … an unnecessary interference?” Emily asks, her tone a mix of anger and disbelief. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, she’s drained, an odd pressing mix exhaustion blooming in her head, all consuming. 

“Yes, Ma’am,” Agent Pierce, the head of security, drawls in his southern accent. Emily finds his presence almost calming. “It appears that way based on the current intelligence we have. We’re still gathering the rest of the details.” 

Elizabeth is still visibly shaken, the events of the day beginning to catch up with her. “And you’re sure these people have been taken care of?” 

“Indeed, Ma’am. We’ve been in touch with the FBI and counter-terrorist units as well. They’ve been working nonstop and have determined the group working to assassinate the Prime Minister have been neutralized.” 

“What is his status?” 

“He and his wife are at St. Sebastian now, ma’am. Mrs. Haran has a broken arm but he was not injured. We’ve been in touch with their security team and the State Department each hour. We’ll get you an update when they are discharged.” 

Elizabeth nods approvingly. “I’ll call them first thing tomorrow.” With a brief glance at Emily, she adds, “What about Agents Hotchner and Bradburn? Their actions were honorable today. I want to be sure to thank them both myself.” 

“Agents Hotchner and Bradburn will be coming back for debriefing as well. I too understand their efforts should be commended.” Agent Pierce nods thoughtfully, and Emily has to clamp a hand over her mouth to hide the small smile that crosses her lips. “I can certainly let them know you’d like to thank them personally.” 

“Please.” Elizabeth presses her hands together, closing her eyes for a moment. “Is that all, Agent Pierce?” 

“Secretary Howe wants to speak with you at some point today, ma’am. He understands things are a bit hectic over here but he did express wanting to hear from you when you are ready.” 

“I’ll have Olivia call his secretary in a few moments. Thank you again for your service today, Agent Pierce. My daughter and I are grateful for you and your team.” 

Agent Pierce turns with a nod of his head, shutting the door quietly behind him, leaving Emily alone with her mother for what feels like the first time in … a very long time. She hugs herself uncomfortably, knowing her mother’s gaze is fixed on her. 

“Emily.” Ambassador Prentiss breaks the silence, and any traces of fear in her face have completely vanished. Her steely expression is back; she’s staring at Emily with near hawkish eyes. 

“What, now Mother?” She’s  _ tired _ \- the adrenaline has completely faded, leaving her empty and exhausted. She desperately wants to shower; the odor of smoke is heavy on her clothes. “I just want to go lay down.” 

“I’m sorry about today,” her mother says with a hint of something Emily can’t place in her tone. “And that you were subjected to such … horror.” 

“Mother,” Emily begins hesitatingly, her nerves starting to fray. “We don’t need to talk about this today.” 

“I’m trying to  _ apologize _ , Emily. Can you let me do that for once?” 

Surprised at her mother’s uncharacteristic display of emotion, Emily nods, letting her continue. 

“I should never have made you go in the first place.” 

She almost looks  _ guilty,  _ Emily thinks with surprise.  _ Maybe she does have feelings.  _ “You had no way of knowing, Mother,” Emily says softly. “There’s nothing you could have done.” 

“I should have nixed it the moment I heard of the threats. I didn’t actually think  _ this _ could happen.” 

_ Well, it did _ , Emily thinks bitterly, but she keeps that to herself.  _ Why  _ is her mother still talking? 

“I’ll have Olivia draw up that list and have it to you in the morning,” she says, weary. “Once you find one that suits your needs, we can get the lease drawn up.” 

It all seems so …  _ unnecessary _ now. All of it. “Can I go now?” Emily hears her own voice start to waver despite her best intentions. 

“Go,” her mother waves her hand, effectively dismissing her. Relieved, she makes a quick exit only to hear her mother’s voice  _ again _ before her hand even reaches the door knob. 

“Emily?” 

She whirls around, unable to hide the range of emotions coursing through her mind. “What?” 

The Ambassador’s face softens just a bit, and she looks as if she wants to say something - something important. Instead, she shakes her head with resignation. “Nevermind. Go get some rest.” She swallows; whatever words she was about to say die on her lips. 

Emily has a feeling she wouldn’t have wanted to hear it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Stay tuned for chapter 26!


	26. Twenty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I’m so sorry to have made you wait this long for an update - I think this is the longest I’ve gone between updating chapters, but it was a tough week - long, grueling, and I spent a lot of time stress eating candy and chips with my eyes glued to the news for the election results. Maybe not the best coping mechanism, but I digress. Anyway, onward to the good stuff. Thank you for all of your sweet comments and messages on the last chapter - they made me smile. I love you all!

**Chapter 26: Secrets**

_ So tell me what you want to hear, something that will light those ears _

_ I’m sick of all the insincere, so I’m gonna give all my secrets away. _

_._..

The rest of the afternoon passes in a meaningless blur. It’s as if time simultaneously moves too fast yet also too slow. It’s a listless, lethargic haze as the adrenaline that coursed through her veins only hours before seemingly vanishes, and it takes nearly all of her effort just to  _ breathe  _ every now and then. 

Emily takes a long, hot shower, letting the spray nearly scald her skin until her fingers prune and the water runs cold. She changes and throws the clothes from earlier that day into a ball in the depths of her closet - they reek of smoke, yet she can’t bring herself to put them in the wash basket. Any effort to sleep is fruitless; she tosses and turns for an hour before eventually giving up.

When it’s clear sleep won’t be an option, she pours herself a drink from the secret stash of bottles hidden in her closet, but it makes her nauseous almost instantly and she pours it down the bathroom sink. The idea of food is unappealing; she doesn’t even want a cigarette. 

Instead, she sits on her balcony, wrapped in a blanket and watches the sun dip past the trees, the colors in the sky exploding together in a mix of orange and pink, followed by dusky blue. She isn’t sure how long she sits in the silence, but it’s dark when she finally stands up, her entire body stiff. It’s unnaturally cool for mid summer, and when the breeze rustles her hair, a chill runs down her spine. She moves to her bed and tries to read the book resting in her lap, except she isn’t actually comprehending a single word on the page. 

Emily isn’t the least bit surprised when she hears the knock on her door as the clock strikes 8. She’s been expecting it, actually. It was just a question of when, but patience has never been her strength. She slips a sweatshirt over her minimal pajamas and turns the lock on the door to find Aaron, looking not much better than she feels in the current moment. He’s changed his clothes since getting back from the hospital, she notices instantly, probably because the other ones were stained with blood and full of smoke. Her throat tightens at the sight of him - he’s clearly exhausted, with a large bandaid on his forehead and dark circles under his eyes.

And while she shouldn’t be surprised,  _ he _ clearly is more worried about  _ her _ , judging by the look on his face.

“Are you all right?” He looks her up and down, breathing a sigh of relief that despite looking pale and tired, she seems fine. “How are you holding up?” 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” Emily grabs his sleeve, pulling him through the crack in the door and quickly shutting it behind her, adding the lock again for good measure.  _ Just in case _ . 

“I’m fine.” Aaron says quickly, stuffs his hand in his pockets, shifting from foot to foot.  _ He doesn’t look fine. He looks like shit.  _ His face is pale, almost grey; she wonders if he’s eaten  _ anything  _ all day, only to remember she hasn’t eaten anything either. “Have you -”

“Fine? You’re  _ fine _ ? You got shot at,” Emily says matter of factly, quickly cutting him off and shaking her head in disbelief. “Several times.” Needing something to do with her hands, she plays with the hem of her sweatshirt absentmindedly. “You shot a fucking sniper. You sliced your head open.” Rising on her tiptoes, she brushes her fingers over the bandage on his forehead, feeling the stitches under her fingers. 

“It was just a few stitches, Emily.” What he doesn’t mention is that it took over twenty to close the wound, but something tells him she already knew that small detail. “Didn’t take long.” 

“You could have been fucking killed.” Emily crosses her arms over her chest indignantly. “Right in front of me, no less.” 

“I was there too, remember,” he says softly, and the calm steadiness in his voice only fuels her more. 

“What were you thinking, Aaron?” She sounds angry - she  _ is _ angry - but most of her is just scared, even though she’d never admit it. It’s only in that moment he realizes he’s never seen her look as terrified as she does right now.

“I told you I’d do whatever means necessary if you were in danger.” He swallows; his voice suddenly thickens. “I wasn’t lying.” 

“You could have been killed,” she repeats again, and she has to fight to swallow the rising lump in her throat. 

“I know,” he reaches out, his knuckles caressing the side of her cheek. “But I’d do it all over again if I had to.” 

“That’s part of the problem,” Emily says softly, forgetting that he’s actually there with her; he can hear her every word. “This is … I don’t know,” she looks around helplessly, perhaps for something she’ll never find. “All of this is too much.” 

“What are you talking about?” He pulls his hand away as if he’s been burned. 

“I’m not  _ good _ at this, Aaron.” She laughs coarsely, covering her face with her hand in shame. “I’ve never been good at this.” 

“Good at what?” 

“Any of this,” she flings her hands into the air helplessly. “I don’t know how to do this.” She shrugs, heat rising to her cheeks. She’s  _ never _ had to - she’s never cared enough in the past.

“If you’re talking about - “ 

“I’m talking about  _ all  _ of it.” Emily wraps her arms around herself protectively, putting another barrier between them both. “Everything that’s happened since I met you,” she says slowly, as if trying to piece it together for the first time, and she’s almost frantic now that the words have started to spill out. “And you’re going to end up  _ leaving _ , anyway, one way or another.” 

“I never said I was _leaving_ , Emily,” Aaron tells her patiently, taking her arms and uncrossing them from her chest, gently pinning them to her sides. She’s _trembling_ , he notices almost immediately. “Where did you even get that notion? If you’re _still_ thinking the FBI is going to tear us-”

“There’s always  _ something standing in the way.” How can he not see it? _ No matter what. She’s trying to stay calm but failing. Her heart is racing, her palms damp with sweat. She feels trapped, almost caged, and she curses under her breath because he knows it’s happening, and of course, knows exactly how to soothe her. 

“Deep breath,” he says calmly, running his hands up and down her arms. “Take a deep breath, Emily. You’re okay.” 

She does, then takes another, calming her nerves, and he doesn’t say a word until her breathing has returned to a relative normal. 

_ “In the way?”  _

“Don’t act naive, Aaron.” She taps her foot on the ground, toys with the ends of her hair. “Think about it. Everything with Tom. Matthew’s funeral. The FBI thing. Sean. Now you almost get killed by a fucking gunman?” She stares at him incredulously, wearing an unreadable expression. “How do we keep doing this when everything ends up a mess?” 

He tries to talk but she cuts him off again before he can even get in a word.

“It’s too much,” she says, not bothering to hide the sadness she feels. “ _ I’m _ too much. No matter what, I always fuck things up.” 

“You haven’t fucked anything up, Emily.” 

_ How can he be so patient all the damn time?  _

“This is getting out of control, Aaron.” 

“You keep saying that, Emily. But you’re not making sense.” 

“You’re not listening to me,” Emily snaps back, but it’s not anger in her voice now. 

“Why don’t  _ you _ ever fucking listen to  _ me _ ?” Now he sounds frustrated - exhausted too - and he’s suddenly in her space, pressing her against the wall, forcing her to look at him. “Do you ever listen to  _ yourself?  _ Listen to what  _ you’re _ saying. I hear you loud and clear, and all I hear are excuses.” 

“Aaron -” 

“Has it ever occurred to you that it you might  _ not  _ be fucking up as much as you presume you are? Has it ever occurred to you that I do all these things because I  _ care _ about you? Has it occurred to you that I fucking -” 

Fear flashes in her eyes, because she knows exactly what he’s about to say. “Don’t say it,” she pleads _.  _ “Just please don’t say it.” She scrubs her hands over her face, pressing her fingers into her eyes. 

“Why not?” 

“Because then it’s real,” she says plainly, staring just over his shoulder instead of at him. “If it’s real, then it can all fall apart.” 

“Emily, that’s not how life works.” He shakes his head. “How can you be so naive?” 

“I’m not naive, Aaron. I’m jaded.” She pauses, as if she wants to say something, but then stops, taking a step toward him instead. 

He rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t have to be that way,” he tells her, and she only closes the gap between them.

“Promise me something.” 

“Anything,” he tells her, and means it. 

“Don’t be the hero again,” Emily takes one more step closer, rises on her tiptoes, not bothering to give him a chance to respond, sealing her mouth over his in a deep kiss. 

But he doesn’t care, because all he wants is  _ her _ . They’ve done this enough times he can anticipate her movements, and when she kisses him, he lifts her up and immediately presses her against the wall, supporting her weight with one arm and using his other to get her sweatshirt up and over her head, abandoning it on the floor. 

With her back pinned to the wall there’s nowhere to go, and Aaron loves the way she practically melts into him, her arms winding around his neck for leverage as he leaves a trail of kisses down her neck, his teeth scraping over her skin, nearly giving her chills. He’s persistent tonight, almost demanding, leaving no expanse of skin untouched by his lips. As he tugs the sweatshirt and pajama top up and over her head, his eyes settle on a rather large bruise on her shoulder, still forming even though it’s already an angry shade of black and blue. 

He stops to look at it and she flinches, but his lips smooth over it in a reassuring kiss. “Is this from today?” He glances up at her expectantly. 

“I think so,” she runs a hand through his hair, smiling softly when she sees the concern on his face. 

“You said you weren’t hurt,” he says darkly, starting to inspect her for additional marks when she cups her hand around his cheek and brings him back to her. 

“It’s just a bruise, Aaron. I’ll live,” she chuckles, her voice teasing, but secretly, no one has ever made her feel more safe than he does. 

He seems to have stopped paying attention, because his face is buried between her breasts now, his lips closing around her nipple while his hand slips beneath the waistband of the shorts she’s wearing. She gasps at the contact; it’s too much yet she can’t get enough of him at that moment. Emily moans when his fingers curve up and into her, gentle at first but then with just a little bit of force, finding her already slick. He twists his fingers and this time she keens, her head falling back on its own accord. 

“Already, sweetheart?” His thumb flicks against her clit with perfect pressure, the moan turns into a near scream and she starts to flutter around his hand. 

_ Not yet _ , he thinks. It hasn’t been nearly enough. Maybe it never will be enough. 

Aaron shakes his head, pulling his hand from between her legs. “Not yet, Emily.” He smirks, enjoying the yelp that comes from her when he does. 

“What?” It almost sounds like a cry as he sets her back down on her feet. “What are you doing?”

“Turn around,” he says, guiding her to face the wall with his hands on her hips, giving himself a quick stroke with his hand before pushing into her without as much as a warning. Emily’s knees buckle but he’s right there to steady her. He loops his arm around her waist while thrusting into her deep and slow, his chest pressed right against her back. She can’t quite formulate a coherent thought let alone a sentence, and if it weren’t for him holding her up she would have lost her footing a long time ago.

Emily closes her eyes and pushes back against him. Aaron’s hand reaches up to squeeze her breast, first the right then the left, and she bucks her hips into his. The sensation of fullness is almost dizzying, and he snakes his hand down and over her hip to find her clit again, stroking in perfect coordination with the pace of his hips.

_ But she can’t focus; she can’t even enjoy this right now, because whenever her eyes close, it’s gunfire she hears and all she can see is him reaching for the door of the limousine, and her entire world going dark. _

“Emily?” She’s usually more vocal than this, especially when he fucks her this way, but she’s barely vocalizing anything - she’s almost silent except for a few soft moans here and there. When he says her name, she stiffens in his arms, her back going rigid against his chest. “What is it, sweetheart?” He brushes his lips over her neck and shoulder to get her attention. “What’s wrong?”

“Not like this,” she murmurs as she shudders, bracing her hand against the wall. “Not here.” She twists her neck around to catch his gaze, to find him watching her intensely. He carefully pulls out of her and she groans at the loss of him. “I keep thinking about earlier and -” 

“Emily,” he croons, suddenly understanding what she means, and he carefully pulls out of her, then turns her back around in his arms. “I’m right here, you know. Stop thinking about it.” 

“I need to see … I need to see your face,” she whispers, barely audible. “I need to see you’re still here.” 

“I  _ am  _ right here, sweetheart,” he says again, cupping her face in his hands reverently.

“Please, Aaron?” 

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” 

She smiles at the double meaning behind his words and pecks his lips as he lifts her into his arms once again, this time bride style, draping her legs over his arm and supporting her back with the other. Emily rests her head on his shoulder as he carries her the few steps to her bed, and sets her down with a lingering kiss before coming down beside her. 

“How’s this?” He asks, nudging her legs open just enough to settle between them, taking her hands and pinning them over her head with one of his. 

“Better,” she smiles up at him, hooking her legs around his waist as he drives into her smoothly. “So much better.” 

He doesn’t stay like that for long, because she’s getting impatient beneath him and he wants her to come the way he knows she likes best - on top of him. It’s  _ his _ favorite too, because he can  _ watch  _ her fall apart, and when he shifts, she doesn’t complain. 

He flips their bodies over with ease, stroking her thighs as she lowers herself over his length. Emily bites her lip as she takes him fully, feeling every inch of him as she slides down until she’s seated, and the spread of her hips over his is enough to make him dizzy.

She’ll never tire of the initial stretch of her muscles that comes each time he’s inside of her for the first fleeting seconds. Aaron’s hands spread across her back, his palms scraping her shoulder blades as sits up with a content sigh. Her hips sway in an easy rhythm, not too fast or slow, and with hooded eyes, she watches  _ him _ gaze up at her with such adoration she has to blink to make sure she isn’t dreaming. 

She’s not dreaming, because the events of the day come flooding back to her, and all of a sudden she can’t breathe as a sob builds in the back of her throat.  _ Not again _ , she thinks, desperately trying to hide it from him. 

“Emily,” he breathes, his hands cupping over her hips as if urging her on faster, and all she wants is to forget  _ everything _ that’s happened today. She shifts her hips cautiously over his, her thumb tracing over the bandage on his forehead with the slightest touch. When she feels the stitches under the bandaid yet again, she stops moving entirely, cupping his face in her hands while taking a shuddering breath. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” He looks concerned now, pushing her hair out of her face and reaching for her. 

She shakes her head, brushing at her eyes with the back of her hand and trying to hide it, but he knows her better than that. Aaron wraps his hands gently around her wrists, bringing her arms down to her sides and pinning them in place.

“Emily,” he says, more sternly than intended, and she tries to twist out of his grip, tries to avert her eyes and  _ move _ , but he’s too strong. 

“I’m ok,” she chokes; he’s touching her everywhere his hands can reach to remind her that he is in fact there, and she blinks back a few more wayward tears. 

“I don’t believe you.” He presses a kiss to her chest, where he imagines her heart would be, and instead of fighting back more tears, they start to fall. 

“I was scared … for you.” her voice is strangled; even in her current state with her body swaying over his, her knees braced on either side of his hips, she looks completely despondent. “I was so scared and - I thought you were -I thought it would have - I wouldn’t have been able to if you,” she can barely breathe now, she isn’t making any sense. “Aaron -” 

“Stop,” he growls, his hand cupping the back of her head as he pulls her down for a kiss. “It’s over, Emily. I’m fine, I’m still here, you’re safe. That’s all that matters.” As if to prove his point, he thrusts up and into her to distract her, long and slow and full, smiling against her lips as she starts to flutter around him.

“I know, I know,” she breathes and he pushes her back up, his hands bracing her as she starts to rock against him again, gathering momentum each time her hips come down on him. “I’m so -”

“You’re so close, sweetheart, I know” he murmurs to her, the sound of his voice almost enough to take her over the edge coupled with the stroke of his fingers against her clit. “You’re shaking. Do you want to come now?” He slides his fingers around, enjoying the way she responds to his every touch. He’s right - she’s  _ so _ close - a little more pressure here or there could easily do the trick. 

She nods, her teeth sinking into her lip as she tries to hold off the inevitable - it’s building faster than she can breathe - but he shakes his head and pulls his hand away. “Not so fast.” 

Emily’s head rolls back, her long hair a halo around her shoulders, her skin flushed and her body arching almost painfully, every muscle taut. She’s hardly aware of anything  _ but _ him and the way he’s watching her, ready to push her over the edge when he’s ready, yet he’s not in any hurry. 

“ _ Aaron, _ ” she moans, full of need. “ _ Please _ .” 

“I could watch you like this all night.” His hands ghost over her breasts and then it’s his mouth pulling one of them into his mouth, his forehead resting against her heart. “My God, Emily, you are beautiful.” 

He meets her gaze, two sets of dark eyes burning into each other, and he’s certain she believes him. And then seconds later, she speaks, so quietly he thinks he may have hallucinated it.

“I love you,” she says it first. It’s the first time she’s ever uttered the words. To him, or to anyone at all really. She expects it to feel unnatural but it’s not - in fact, when it falls from her lips, she’s never been more sure of anything. 

She breaks apart seconds later, and when she does, she’s quiet, a whimper only he can hear as she trembles first and then writhes against him, his name on her lips right against his ear. Emily takes him with her, and when he finally stills beneath her, panting and shaking on his own accord, he whispers it back. 

“I love you, too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 27!


	27. Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m really glad you’re here,” she adds with a whisper. 
> 
> “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” 
> 
> Aaron and Emily from the early days of him working for the Ambassador, and onward to present day. Chapter 27.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! A quick Monday update for you before I get to work with the next part. I’ve gotten to the point where I actually don’t have the chapters actually written out (minus some little changes here and there) so I’m going to have to write faster to get them up here. Hope you’re all having a good week! As always, enjoy, and let me know what you think - I love hearing your thoughts!

**Chp 27: Love Runs Out**

_ I'll be your light, your match, your burning sun.  _ _ I'll be the bright, and black, that's making you run. _

She sits up suddenly, breathless and unable to even scream, the wind all but knocked out of her, the covers twisted around her body like restraints. Emily is shaking, heart pounding in her chest, her ears ringing. Before she’s even aware of her own body, or what’s even happening, the phone is in her hand, dialing the numbers she’s memorized by heart. 

He answers on the second ring. 

“Hotchner,” his voice is riddled with fatigue, and she wants to hang up immediately because he sounds so  _ exhausted.  _ He’d worked a double earlier that day, she knows, having covered a 7-3 shift in addition to his normal 3-11 shift.  _ Of course he’s exhausted _ . But she can’t bring herself to turn the phone off.

“Aaron,” she breathes, unable to hide the fear in her voice, or the fact that she’s panting; her heart is racing. “I’m sorry for waking you up.” She chokes on a sob, biting it back, not wanting to alarm him. 

_ Too late _ . 

“Emily?” He’s instantly awake now, throwing back the covers and scrubbing his hand over his face in an attempt to rub the sleep from his eyes. “What happened? Where are you?” 

“I don’t know,” she reaches for the light but hands are shaking and instead she ends up knocking over the glass of water on her nightstand. “ _ Fuck,”  _ she mutters softly as the water spills all over the floor, yet he can still hear her. 

“Where are you?” He repeats again, the tension in his voice rising as he flips on his own bedroom light.

“I’m at home. It happened so … I couldn’t stop it.” 

“You had a nightmare?” He figures it out quickly; she can almost  _ see _ the concern on his face. This isn’t the first time it’s happened in the five short days it’s been since the attack, but it’s the first time she’s sounded truly terrified; the first time she’s called him in the dead middle of the night. She’s only ever  _ told _ him about it after the fact. 

She’d brushed off his concern each time, but now there’s no way he’ll let it go. 

“Yeah.” She fights to keep her voice somewhat even, despite the sob threatening to spill over. She just wants to talk to him; to hear his voice. “It was -” she can’t bring herself to continue, and in the brief pause that follows, she curses herself for being so weak, so needy. “It was so real.” Emily throws the covers off the bed, freeing her limbs, pulling a breath into her burning lungs and it takes more effort than it should; she’s practically gasping for air.

“I’m coming over there.” 

“No,” she chokes, but it’s not even worth it, because in the background she can hear him already out of bed.

“Are you having trouble breathing?” 

“No, Aaron,” she coughs this time, knowing she’s not being too convincing. “I’m fine.” 

“Doesn’t sound like it.” 

She coughs again, and he’s saying something, but she can’t hear him because her ears are still ringing.

“You don’t have to come, Aaron. It’s late,” she adds feebly. “Plus, someone could see you.” 

“I’m already on my way.” He sounds firm, it’s a non-argument. She  _ hates  _ just how much calmer she feels already just knowing he’s coming. “You shouldn’t be alone. You need to get some rest for once.” 

“How are you going to get in?” She rests back against the pillows - many of them are strewn across the bed and onto the floor.  _ It was a bad one _ , she thinks with a shudder. Each one has been more real than the last. 

“I know the security codes, sweetheart.” 

“You do?” She asks weakly, struggling to wrap her head around it all.  _ Why is none of this making sense? Why is my mind spinning? _

“Pretty sure I  _ made _ some of them.” She can practically hear him smiling into the phone. “I practically rewired all of the alarms myself.” 

“Right,” she murmurs, suddenly dizzy, and she has to close her eyes.  _ Of course he did.  _ “Try the back entrance,” she adds. “It’s quicker to my room and you can avoid the front stairs.” 

“I know, Emily. I work there, remember?” His voice is so soothing, yet she doesn't have to see his face to know he’s worried. 

“It won’t stop, Aaron.” Her body feels like it’s betraying her. “When will you be here?” 

“As soon as I can. Try to relax and breathe, sweetheart,” he’s saying, yet she can’t hear him because  _ everything  _ looks hazy now, and she has to fight to even hold the phone without dropping it. “Deep breaths, like we talked about.” 

“Can you hurry, please?” She hears the rustle of clothes in the background, the click of a shutting door, the jingle of keys. 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

...

She’s laying in the dark, trying without much success to calm her frayed nerves when he ducks into her bedroom and firmly closing the door behind him. Slipping off his shoes and tossing his jacket onto the chair, he calls out, “Emily?” 

“Hi.” She doesn’t move - too much movement makes her nauseous. She desperately needs some more water, maybe some crackers to settle her stomach. 

“What the hell happened in here?” he asks when she turns the light on. There are pillows on the floor with blankets strewn on top of them, a pile of clothes in the corner. Aaron bends down for the blankets, because he can tell even from a few feet away from her that she’s shaking.

She doesn’t answer him, and her silence tells him everything he needs to know. 

He’s at her side in seconds, his weight dipping the other side of the mattress as he settles into her bed next to her, spreading the covers around them both. When he pulls her into his arms, she melts into him, clinging to him as he finds the small of her back, sliding his hand under the oversized t-shirt she’s wearing, stroking her bare skin. “Talk to me, sweetheart.” 

When she tries to talk she starts to panic, and Aaron curses himself inwardly for getting her worked up again.“Deep breaths,” he says calmly in an attempt to calm her too, and it takes more than a few minutes until she’s able to speak normally.

“It was real,” Emily says, hating the tremors that overpower her voice,  _ loathing _ the way she’s still shaking in his arms despite the fact that he’s rubbing her back, his best attempt to get her to relax. “It was like I was back there … I … It smelled like smoke. I heard the gunshots.  _ You  _ got shot this time.” She starts to panic again, twisting in his arms, and he’s worried she’s going to wake someone. 

“Hey, hey. It’s alright. I’m right here, we’re in your room.” He’s kissing her forehead, gently rubbing her back as he settles her into the bed. “You’re safe, Emily.” His voice is soothing, his arms even moreso, and she rests her head against his chest, finally letting her exhausted body relax. She’s all but a dead weight against him but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

“I can’t believe you came all this way,” she yawns, her fingers curling around the material of his shirt, and he pulls the covers up a little bit higher, never releasing his hold on her. 

“It’s not that far, you know. Maybe fifteen minutes at most.” 

“Still. I woke you up in the middle of the night, and you work tomorrow.” 

“Don’t worry about that,” he says firmly, putting his finger against her lips. “That can be figured out later.”

“Aren’t you exhausted?” 

“Stop worrying about me. It was my decision to come over.”

She opens her mouth again to object, but he cuts her off. “Close your eyes, Emily. I’m right here,” he soothes, kissing her forehead and adjusting the pillow behind her head. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

She actually believes him; she knows what his word is worth at this point. 

Emily falls asleep again within minutes - they both do - only to be woken up a short time later, with another nightmare. Her eyes aren’t even open when she realizes she’s crying instead of screaming, with hot tears streaming down her face.

Aaron is awake almost instantly, and Emily feels guilty for even calling him in the first place.

This time, he’s right there with her and when she thrashes out in fear as the tears fall faster, he holds her to him, all calm and reassuring. The clock reads 3:04 AM - it’s been less than two hours.  _ This can’t keep happening _ , she thinks as her body all but betrays her every effort to calm down. Instead it almost makes it worse. 

Aaron rocks her back and forth, as she rides it out, shushing her, calming her, and when she fights against her racing heart, his fingers press to her wrist, checking her pulse. 

“Sweetheart, you need to breathe,” he says gently, mildly concerned at how fast her heart is pumping.  _ No wonder she can’t calm down.  _ He briefly wonders how many times this has happened and he  _ wasn’t _ there. “It’s not going to stop unless you breathe.” 

It takes a while, but she eventually settles down again; the tears subside and under his fingers, her pulse stops pounding. Her hair is plastered to her forehead, sweat still beading on her hairline, her shirt is stuck to her back. “Let’s get you changed,” he says, and it’s as if she  _ didn’t _ wake him up twice in the middle of the night, because he moves so efficiently through her room, digging through the drawer for a fresh set of pajamas in the dark. 

But he turns around empty handed, with a questioning look on his face. “Do you want to shower? Or take a bath?”

She nods her head; she’s drenched as if she just ran a marathon. “A bath sounds really great, actually.” Emily is surprised her legs don’t give out beneath her when she follows him into the bathroom.

Aaron turns the water on, making sure the temperature is exactly right as Emily sits on the lidded toilet seat, her head in her hands. She has a headache, her nose is stuffed from the crying, and her throat is sore - probably from screaming. 

“When will it stop?” She whispers, unaware she’s even talking out loud. “I  _ fucking  _ hate this.” 

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” He holds out his hand, helping her to her feet, carefully pulling her damp shirt over her head. “Try not to think about it. Let’s just get you comfortable again.” 

“Don’t you have to be on again at 7?” It’s pushing 4:00 at this point, and he’s gotten less than two hours of sleep since showing up at the mansion. 

He rests his hands on her bare shoulders. “I'm covering for someone again. I’ll figure it out,” he says, sounding completely sure. “I’ve worked on little sleep before. I can manage.” 

Emily nods slowly, resting her head on his shoulder, breathing him in. “Does  _ anyone _ in this fucking place actually work when they’re supposed to? You’re always covering other people’s shifts.” 

“Emily,” he begins, trying not to sound frustrated. He’d agreed to cover the shift in the first place.

“I shouldn’t have called you.” 

“What did I tell you?” Aaron says firmly, taking a step back, cupping her face in his hands. “It will be fine. I’m exactly where I need to be right now.” 

She sighs heavily with a roll of her eyes. “You’re too good to me, Aaron,” Emily tells him, and he pretends not to hear the heaviness in her voice. 

“It’s because I love you,” he says softly, kissing her forehead. 

She smiles, closing her eyes as she loops her arms around his neck. “I love you too.” And she swallows hard, because she’s never been more sure of anything that simultaneously terrifies her. Averting her eyes, she is suddenly very much aware of the fact that she isn’t wearing any clothes. And as respectful as he tries to be, she knows he can’t help but eye her appreciatively. 

“Water’s ready,” he murmurs against the shell of her ear, sliding his hand up and down her bare back. She piles her hair on her head in a messy, lopsided bun and steps over the ledge of the opulent marble bathtub, trying to conceal the fact that her legs are shaking, ever so slightly.

Emily settles in the tub, leaning against the back, her eyes closed, her hand safely tucked inside of his. The water is soothing, lapping over her bare skin, the sound of the running faucet a comforting distraction. It practically lulls her back to sleep, and it isn’t until she hears Aaron’s voice that she realizes she’s dozing off. 

“Don’t fall asleep in there.” Aaron is perched on the edge of the toilet. “I don’t know if I could pull you out.” He’s teasing, she realizes, and she splashes water at him. 

“Thank you for coming,” she whispers, squeezing his hand as he dries his face with a towel.

“I’m glad you called me.” He uses his free hand to swipe some of the hair out of her eyes. “Why didn’t you the other times this happened?” 

She looks away, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “I don’t know,” she mumbles, sitting up to reach for the soap. “I guess I didn’t think it was that bad. I’ve had nightmares before, Aaron. I can handle it.” 

“But not like this, Emily. You’ve been through a traumatic experience,” Aaron says thoughtfully. “This isn’t something you can just brush aside. You need time to process and heal.”

She wants to ignore him but he’s right, even if she wishes he wasn’t. “How do I do that?” 

“By what you’re doing now. Talking about it when you need to, giving yourself patience.” 

Emily nods, sinking down a few inches further in the water until it’s up to her chin. 

“Sit up a minute.” 

She glances at him curiously but does it anyway, and he takes the soap from her hand and starts to wash her back. 

“Maybe you’re right.” She blinks, resting her chin on her drawn-up knees as Aaron’s hands massage into her back with his typical tenderness, then coming up and over her shoulders. “What are you doing?” 

“Helping you relax.” 

She wants to object but doesn’t, because the feeling of his hands - his careful, gentle hands - is something she’ll never tire of. Whatever he’s doing is working - the scent of the lavender soap, the warmth of the water, the press of his hands into her aching muscles. He takes his time, carefully kneading the knots out of her shoulders and then leaning her back against the tub again, repeating the process on her chest and torso, then down her legs. And she lets him, closing her eyes and taking a few deep, calm breaths. “I love you,” she tells him as he finally puts the soap down, rinsing away any residual traces of it on her skin. 

“I love you too, sweetheart.” With a quick peck on her cheek he stands up, drying his hands and reaching for hers to help her out of the bathtub. The water has started to run cold; she’s yawning into her fist. “Let’s get some sleep. It’s late.” 

“It’s actually early, you know,” Emily chides him gently. She wraps herself in one of the fluffy towels on the hook, pulling the tie out of her hair and shaking it out around her shoulders. “I’m really glad you’re here,” she adds with a whisper. 

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” 

Emily finds a fresh set of pajamas, then helps him change the sheets on her bed because the other ones are damp with sweat, matted and twisted across the bed. When he finally settles beside her again it’s close to 5, and the inky black sky has started to fade to a deep blue. Soon enough, the sun will come up, but for now, she closes her eyes and immediately begins to fade. She falls asleep with her head against his chest, his arm around her waist. 

Hours later, when she wakes up again, she’s alone, as she expected, because it’s well past morning and he’s definitely working. She stretches, rolling around her bed languidly, only to see a small note on the nightstand along with a glass of water. 

_ Got someone to cover my 3-11 tonight. My place around 6? I’ll make dinner.  _

She swings her legs over the side of the bed, smiling contentedly to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 28.


	28. Twenty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What were you actually thinking, Emily?” Elizabeth says suddenly. “Did you actually think you would get away with this?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all - here we go for chapter 29! Let me know what you think - I love reading your reactions - they never fail to make me smile. I was hoping to get this up sooner but life keeps getting in the way. Enjoy! - This chapter is rated M.

**Chapter 28: Heaven in Hiding**

_ And when you start to feel the rush, a crimson headache, aching blush _

_ And you surrender to the touch, you'll know I can put on a show, I can put on a show _

_ Don't you see what you're finding? This is heaven in hiding, _

She should have known something was wrong right away. 

She should have known … because things haven’t seemed  _ right _ since she woke up that morning. It was quiet … too quiet … almost eerily quiet … except it shouldn’t be, because the Ambassador’s full staff is in the mansion, and the place is normally bustling and practically buzzing at times. 

_ Something isn’t right _ . 

She’d been sitting outside, desperately in need of some air after another rough night (at least  _ some _ of the nightmares have started to subside) when she had spotted Olivia, her mother’s assistant, moving in her direction. It was the last sign she needed to confirm what’s been in the back of her mind since that morning - something wasn’t right. Olivia typically didn’t give Emily the time of day. 

Only a few years older, Olivia was everything the Ambassador had ever hoped for in a daughter, as Emily was so keenly aware. For that reason alone, her presence makes Emily anxious, yet that doesn’t stop her from staring her down as she makes the trek down the paved driveway in a pair of ridiculous shoes, a clipboard perched on her arm. 

“Your mother needs to see you,” Olivia says coolly, tossing her long, artfully curled blonde hair over her shoulder with a look down her perfect nose. Emily notices her heeled shoes don’t have a speck of dirt on them; her clothes are perfectly pressed. Given the oppressively warm temperatures, Emily thinks she looks ridiculous. But then again, appearances are part of her job, yet Emily is very much aware of her casual dress and sandals. 

“I’m busy.” She turns away pointedly from Olivia, although it’s abundantly clear she isn’t that very busy at all. 

“She said it’s urgent.” 

“Of course it is,” Emily grumbles, knowing it’s probably easier to just follow her anyway. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” 

“She requested I bring you myself.” Olivia plants a high-heeled foot on the ground, crossing her arms over her chest. 

_ She clearly isn’t budging _ . 

“What’s this about?” 

Olivia glances away from her. “I didn’t ask.” 

Somehow, Emily has a feeling she didn’t have to - she probably already knows. 

She stays an arm’s length from Olivia as they cross the expansive backyard, following just closely enough to not cause a scene. As much as she hates to admit it, she’s nervous. Her mother has been surprisingly quiet; she’s all but left her alone in the last week or so, and Emily has a feeling there’s a reason behind her silence. 

There usually always is. 

Her mother is, as expected, waiting for her. She sits behind her desk wearing a formidable expression, and Emily has to look away as she picks her way across the expensive, plush carpet up to one of the chairs right in front of the ornate oak desk. 

“Thank you, Olivia,” Elizabeth says in a dismissive tone as the other girl backs into the corner, clearly curious but not daring to ask what’s going on. Emily is half tempted to ask her to leave herself, but that would just anger her mother. Elizabeth picks up her glasses, puts them on and then takes them off, before slowly rearranging a pile of papers on her desk. 

“Why am I here, Mother?” Emily taps her foot against the floor, nervously or impatiently she isn’t quite sure yet, but something tells her this isn’t going to end well. “Clearly you didn’t call me in here to make small talk.” 

“Sit down, Emily.” 

“No thank you,” Emily says nervously, biting her lip and glancing in any direction except that of her mother’s. She settles her gaze on the wall behind the desk, staring at the abnormally large photograph of the two of them. It’d been taken in Italy shortly after they’d arrived (and before everything got too complicated). Emily always hated that photo - she’d been ridiculously uncomfortable when it was taken (for many reasons), but staring at it now makes her cringe. She looks tense, almost rigid, and her mother looks completely indifferent - it’s a reflection of their current relationship, an odd foreshadowing of what was to come.

Elizabeth looks uncomfortable, and Emily feels a sinking sense of dread that whatever she’s about to lay on the table isn’t anything she wants to hear. 

“Fine. Stand then,” Elizabeth says, her face pinched, her expression unreadable. She appears to be choosing her own words carefully, and Emily can count on one hand the number of times her mother hasn’t known exactly what to say. “I won’t mince words.” 

“You would never, Mother.” Emily crosses her arms over her chest, feeling defensive. And before she’s about to start say  _ fuck it _ and storm out, Elizabeth starts in, and Emily immediately wishes the floor would swallow her whole.

“ _ What _ were you actually thinking, Emily?” Elizabeth says suddenly, standing up from behind her desk and slamming the chair back in. “ _ Did you actually think you would get away with this?”  _

“Get away with what?” Emily asks casually, refusing to give anything away, but deep down she knows it’s a done deal.  _ Her mother knows everything.  _

_ How? Did someone see them? Where is Aaron?  _

“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out about your …  _ relationship _ ,” Elizabeth practically spits at her, “with one of my  _ security agents?”  _ She’s seething; the anger seeps into the fine lines on her face. 

Emily sets her jaw stubbornly and bites her lip. “Seriously, Mother?  _ That’s _ why you called me in here?” 

“I’ve never been more serious.” 

I’m not having this conversation with you.” She doesn’t confirm or deny it _. Let her stew _ . “I don’t see how this concerns you.” 

“Whatever is going on with you and Agent Hotchner ends right now.” 

“I don’t think you get to make that choice, Mother. Plus, this is  _ none _ of your business.” Emily knows she’s fighting an uphill battle arguing with her. 

“It  _ is _ my business when he’s my  _ employee _ , Emily. Do you have  _ any _ idea what this could mean if this  _ got out _ ? How long has this been going on?” 

“Who told you?” 

“No one had to  _ tell _ me, Emily.” Her mother inhales sharply, and Emily wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t answer. “I had my suspicions when we were in the limousine the other week.” 

Emily brings her fingers to her lips, briefly closing her eyes. She should have known that would come back to bite her. She did know. But at the moment, she hadn’t cared at all. She’d only cared about one thing. 

“I knew for sure when I watched you practically  _ throw _ yourself across the car to stop him from opening the door,” her mother continues, and the tone of her voice is one Emily can’t place. “ _ What _ were you thinking?” 

“In that particular moment, I was thinking about the fact that we were getting shot at,” Emily says with contempt. 

“You know exactly what I mean. You certainly didn’t try to hide anything.” She stops to take a breath. “I’m many things, Emily. One thing I am not is  _ stupid. _ ” She narrows her eyes. “Do you  _ actually _ think this will end well?” 

Emily pointedly turns away from her mother, a full refusal to answer her question. Deep down, she knows there’s some truth behind her mother’s words.  _ Do you actually think this will end well _ . She’s always known it wouldn’t. There was no other way. But now she’s in too deep. It’s the perfect storm. The perfect  _ fucking _ storm. 

“ _ Emily,” _ her mother says again, more insistently this time. 

There’s an awkward coughing noise and Emily realizes Olivia is still there, privy to the entire conversation. 

“Can you ask her to leave?” Emily rolls her eyes, avoiding eye contact with both of them. “She doesn’t need to be here.” 

“Olivia would be the one to clean up this mess if it were to ever get out.” 

“I can’t believe you would call me in here for  _ this _ .” Emily seethes but feels trapped even in the massive office. “Actually, I do. I’m not even surprised at all. It’s who you are. You have to fuck with  _ everything. _ ”

“What else do you expect me to do, Emily? You’re nineteen years old. He’s -” 

“His age doesn’t  _ fucking _ matter, Mother. I'm an adult." 

“Watch your language, Emily. And yes, it does. It  _ matters _ when you are  _ my  _ daughter.” 

“I’m going back to Yale soon anyway. It’s not like this is going to continue.” It’s a long shot at best, and she knows it, but she can’t tell what her mother’s endgame is. 

“Then let’s settle it once and for all.” As if punctuating her words, Elizabeth tosses her pen down with a little too much force. 

“What? 

Elizabeth turns to Olivia. “Bring him in, please.” 

Olivia nods obediently, reaching for the door. When it opens she slips out for a brief moment only to return seconds later with  _ Aaron  _ on her heels. 

Emily opens her eyes wide, sinking into the closest chair when her knees start to wobble on their own accord. Surely this  _ isn’t _ happening.  _ This can’t be happening _ . 

Elizabeth is silent as Aaron strides across the carpet up to her desk, merely glaring him up and down with a disapproving stare.

Aaron glances between the two of them, his eyes lingering on Emily for the briefest of seconds, and it’s all he needs to know as he stands before his boss with Emily just a few feet away, wishing he could be anywhere else in that moment. 

“Is there something you need, ma’am?” He clears his throat awkwardly, tucking his hands behind his back.

Emily almost wants to laugh, because he’s doing everything he can to appear completely in the dark, yet nothing is further from the truth. He clearly knows exactly why he’s here. 

“I scarcely know what to say,” the Ambassador begins slowly, visibly tense herself. “I know my daughter well enough to know this was probably her idea, an insanely stupid one.” Elizabeth’s eyes bore into Emily’s, then quickly move to Aaron’s. “I know my daughter,” she says again, uncharacteristically gathering her wits. “But I never thought I would even have to consider something like  _ this _ with one of my own staff.” 

“Ma’am, I -” 

“Spare me your logic, Agent. I would prefer not to hear the rationale behind your stupidity, your unprofessionalism, your complete lack of decorum.” 

Aaron only nods, his mouth pressed in a thin line, letting her continue.

“I blame myself partly,” she says, “For not recognizing it sooner. But this has gone too far. It ends now.”

Aaron lowers his head, his hand sliding to his gun out of habit. “Ma’am, -”

“You will be transferred to another residence by the beginning of next week, Agent. Maybe there you can learn to conduct yourself appropriately.”    
  


“What? No!” Emily screams, not even caring about the condescendingly scathing stare coming from Olivia’s direction. She looks absolutely disgusted with Emily’s sudden outburst of emotion. Emily can’t say she blames her. 

“This is the best option you could have,” her mother says, not sounding very sorry at all as her eyes flicker coolly between them both. “Given the  _ circumstances _ , Agent Hotchner is lucky. This type of indiscretion could be the end of his career.” 

“You’re so fucking -” Emily starts, her voice raising with panic. “This isn’t his fault; it wasn’t his idea.” 

“Emily,” Aaron begins, momentarily forgetting they’re in his  _ boss’s  _ office. “Emily, it’s -” 

“Shut up, Aaron,” Emily cuts him off quickly. “She’s just -”

“ _ Emily!”  _ The Ambassador snaps back, and Aaron suddenly holds up his hands. “You don’t have a say in this matter. If I wanted to, I could have Agent Hotchner removed from the premises and I could have his shield.”

Emily can barely hide the fear in her face.  _ She could. And she would. _

That’s not necessary, ma’am,” Aaron says smoothly, despite his pale face, clearly looking mortified. “Consider this my resignation.”

“Your what?” Emily spins to face him, and even though she knows she heard him correctly, she’s praying this is just one more nightmare. “You’re not actually going to -” 

“I am.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his badge and removes his gun from the holster. “I can finish my shift or leave immediately.”

Elizabeth regards him, her face softening ever so slightly at his acquiesce. In fact, it’s so subtle Emily almost misses it herself. She sighs. “It’s already Wednesday. Friday will be your last day. Consider it a favor.” 

“I will have a letter on your desk tomorrow.” Aaron regards his boss this time, who gives him a satisfied nod, and if Emily wasn’t mistaken, a look of relief.

_ Now she doesn’t have to do it herself, _ Emily thinks bitterly.  _ Now she can say this wasn’t her doing. _

The room starts to spin; someone  _ desperately  _ needs to open a window, she thinks, only to remember it’s pushing 90 degrees and the sky has darkened to an ominous grey. The clouds are heavy; threatening to spill over.  _ It needs to rain, she thinks _ \- the only coherent thought she’s capable of. It’s been unbearably hot for the last three days. The pounding in her head is starting to intensify, it’s becoming all too consuming and impossible to ignore. She has to get out. 

She gets up, pushing the chairs away from the Ambassador’s desk and nearly taking Aaron out with them then across the carpet, shoving a stunned Olivia out of the way and out of the ornate double doors. She ignores the sound of Elizabeth’s voice calling out from behind her, letting the doors slam shut. 

Emily runs - except she doesn’t know where she’s running to, or from. Her mother, Aaron - it could be either, or both. She’s only vaguely aware of the fact that the sandals she’s wearing are  _ not _ meant for running, and her feet burn the entire way down the marble steps to the cobblestone driveway. 

She hears movement behind her, even though the wind is starting to pick up, and she doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s Aaron. 

“Emily!” He’s chasing after her as she veers to the right, making a mad dash for the tree-lined driveway almost all the way to the edge of the property. He’s wearing a full suit and it’s the middle of August, yet somehow he catches up to her and grabs her by the arm, tugging her back and around to face him. 

The force nearly pulls her shoulder out of the socket but it isn’t pain she feels, it’s anger. “What the fuck did you do that for? You  _ resigned _ just like that?” 

“What choice did I have?” He shoots back, his face growing redder by the second. “She could  _ ruin _ my career.” 

“You didn’t even stand up to her.” 

He stares at her with disbelief. “Emily, she’s my boss. Not my friend. She  _ knows  _ about us _. _ Do you know the repercussions this could have?” 

“You mean for your future FBI career?” She taunts back, and his jaw flexes because he’s visibly angry now. 

“That’s exactly what I mean.”  _ Not this again.  _

“Of fucking course. But great job back there. You let her railroad all over you.” 

“What else was I supposed to do? This was the best option of all options, Emily. Don’t you see that?” 

“Maybe I’m missing something, because no, I don’t see it.” She crosses her arms and sets her jaw indignantly. “Now what?”

“What do you mean, now what?” 

“Now that you’re officially leaving.” 

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully, throwing his jacket over his arm because the muggy heat is starting to make him dizzy. “We’ll figure something out. We’ll find a way.” 

“That’s easy for you to say.” 

“Trust me, Emily. None of this is  _ easy _ . You think I wanted any of that to happen? I just resigned from my  _ job _ . You think this is  _ easy? _ You’re fooled.” 

“People always leave, Aaron.” Emily turns away, biting her lip so he doesn’t see the tears that threaten to fall. “You certainly wouldn’t be the first.” 

In the near distance, thunder rumbles and there’s a subtle flash of lighting, a foreshadowing of the storm that’s upon them, and as it starts to rain, she shivers. 

“Emily,” he begins, a hint of desperation rising in his voice, but she cuts him off. “I’m not  _ fucking  _ leaving you. I love you.” He holds up his hands, looking exhausted. 

She shakes her head sadly, sending the first water droplets into the air. “Maybe this isn’t supposed to end well,” she says sadly now, her heart twisting, and even though she’s tempted to run away, she can’t. Not now. “Maybe we’re meant to crash and burn.” 

“Shut up, Emily. Just stop talking.” He pulls her into his embrace, and she struggles but he’s stronger. He doesn’t sound convincing but she  _ still _ trusts him anyway even though every voice in her head is screaming not to. “We’ll figure something out,” he says almost soothingly. 

And when he seals his mouth against hers, the rain beating down on them both now, she can’t help but fall back right to where they started.

…

It’s been almost two days and she has yet to utter another word to her mother. 

Not that she has anything to say in the first place.

Thursday night, on Aaron’s second to last shift, her mother has a planned dinner party with an entire entourage of Senators, Congressmen, and various political animals in her circle.  Despite her objection, Emily’s presence is requested -  _ demanded _ \- actually, and even though she’s tempted to bail, she knows the likelihood of her getting her own apartment in New Haven rests on her appearance tonight. 

So she does her hair and makeup and finds her highest, fanciest heels, reminding herself in just a few weeks she  _ won’t _ have to do this anymore. Emily isn’t not shocked to see him there, because it makes sense.  Considering recent events, extra precautions are a non-negotiable for the foreseeable future. In fact, there’s twice as many security staff circling the room as usual. 

Emily downs a champagne flute in one long sip and sets the empty glass on a tray, meeting his eyes from across the room.

“Control yourself,” the Ambassador says in a dangerous, low voice as she brushes past Emily on her way to greet a guest, plastering a brilliant smile on her face and hiding her true emotions. “No shenanigans.” 

“Whatever you say, Mother.” 

He holds her gaze and winks subtly. She knows he’s been watching her all night - how could he not? His eyes practically bugged out of his head when he’d first seen her - when she’d arrived fifteen minutes late, wearing the cerulean blue dress she’d specifically chosen for this occasion. There’s a sense of finality in the air reserved just for the two of them.  _ How did it ever come to this?  _ She thinks of the first time she’d laid eyes on him, over two months ago, and all that’s happened since. 

She really needs another drink, because thinking is making her head hurt.

Reaching for a second flute, she dodges yet another boring conversation with some senator whose name she can’t remember and crosses the room in a few easy strides. 

“Good evening, Agent,” she says smoothly, curling her fingers around the stem of the crystal glass. In case there are any wandering ears, she sticks with formalities.

“Miss Prentiss,” Aaron responds similarly, with the best neutral expression he can, his hand resting protectively at the gun on his hip. He doesn’t turn to look at her; he keeps his eyes firmly planted on whatever is directly across from them. 

“Are you planning on using that or something?” 

“Just doing my job.” He continues to scan the room, seemingly oblivious to her presence. But then he finally does turn to look at her. “How are you holding up?” 

“I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Not yet,” he retorts, taking the champagne flute from her hand, setting it on a nearby table. 

“I’m surprised she didn’t make Olivia my babysitter.” Emily studies her fingernails with disinterest. They’re bitten down to nothing but she doesn’t care. 

“I thought the same thing,” Aaron puts a few inches of space between them when he spies Olivia across the room, talking animatedly with some congressman he’s seen on the news a few times. “Something tells me your mother is watching anyway.” 

“She’s not paying attention anymore,” Emily says amusedly, gesturing in her mother’s direction. Sure enough, the ambassador is completely preoccupied, a drink in her hand and her head thrown back in a laugh. “I doubt she even remembers I’m here.” 

As if on cue, the Ambassador’s head turns, and she makes direct eye contact with Emily and Aaron, shooting them both a sharp stare. 

“If only looks could kill,” Emily murmurs, not even bothering to take a step away. 

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Aaron quips, completely aware of Emily’s twisted grin. “Shouldn’t you be out there mingling anyway?” 

“You don’t have to whisper, Aaron. No one can hear you from here.” 

“I shouldn’t even be talking to you in the first place. Especially now.” 

She nods thoughtfully. “Maybe so, but I’ve had enough small talk for the evening. I need some air.” It’s the way she says it that he knows she’s not talking about going outside. 

“What would your mother say if you just left?” 

“I’m not  _ leaving _ ,” she says. “I’m stepping out for a few minutes. Care to join me?” There’s a devious smirk on her face, and his throat goes dry. She’s standing close enough to him now that he can smell the perfume on her skin. 

“Emily, we can’t -”

“But we  _ can, _ ” she says, almost seductively. “It hardly matters now, anyway.” 

He briefly considers it and nods a few moments later, because he can’t refuse her. 

“I’ll meet you in the side office.” She turns and saunters away, lingering just long enough that it isn’t obvious when she slips between the side doors. He smiles, because no one notices a thing.

He questions his sanity as he waits for the perfect moment to follow her. 

When Elizabeth turns her head again, Emily is nowhere to be found. 

…

The side office is two doors down from the main dining room, so close they can hear the music playing even with the door shut. He glances behind him right before he opens the door, and the coast is clear.

Emily is sitting in the leather chair, her feet propped up on the desk, watching his every move. Her stiletto heels are sharp as knives, the straps wrapping around her slender ankles. There’s a cigarette in one hand, a third flute of champagne in the other. “I’m impressed.” She flutters her eyelashes at him. “How’d you get away so fast?” 

“Like you, I have my ways.” He turns the lock and tests the door to make sure it’ll hold. 

“How long do you have?” 

“Fifteen minutes max.” He’s already reaching for his belt. “Probably less, to be safe.” 

“Hmm,” she says, rising to her feet, and in the light he can see just how perfectly this dress accentuates her body. She finishes the champagne, lazily takes one more drag before stubbing the cigarette out. “Better make me come fast then.” 

He pulls her in, practically growling into her neck, already reaching for the delicate shoulder straps of her dress.

…

Not that she ever had any doubt, he takes her demand  _ very _ seriously. 

“ _ Aaron _ ,” she keens into the darkened room, her back pinned against the wall and one leg thrown over his shoulder. She’d left the stilettos on at his request, and the sharp heel digs into his back. He’s on his knees between her legs, his tongue inside of her and his nose brushing against her clit. “Oh my God, Aaron,” she whines, already close even though it’s been less than five minutes. He alternates pushing his tongue inside of her and over her, taking her so close to the edge her legs shake. 

“Not so loud, sweetheart,” he says soothingly, his hands gripping her knees firmly to hold her legs open. “You know the rules. I wouldn’t want to stop when you’re  _ this  _ close. You’d be  _ miserable _ all night.” 

_ Fucking tease _ . She shivers - the  _ rules _ being that she can’t be loud, because regardless of what’s going on in this room, there’s close to 30 people in the room just two doors away. But it’s nearly impossible when he’s doing  _ this _ . Emily clamps a hand over her mouth to stifle another moan when he spreads her open with his hands, working her over at a pace she isn’t sure she can handle. At least not tonight. 

She breaks at only the slightest caress of his tongue, and she keeps her hand on her mouth because she doesn’t trust herself to be quiet when he’s doing this. Her hips rock against his face; she shudders as the orgasm rips through her. Aaron’s lips peck at the skin of her inner thighs as she settles. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs softly, rising from his position at her feet and pulling her into his arms. “Now, where were we?” His hands are rough and calloused but gentle on her shoulders, slipping the delicate straps of her dress down just enough to nip at her shoulder. Emily pushes into his chest, driving him backward until he hits the edge of the desk, and he quickly lifts her up and settles her atop of it. 

“I feel sorry for whoever uses this desk tomorrow,” Emily laughs into his ear, and Aaron swallows the rising lump in his throat. 

“They’ll never know.” He’s tugging the skirt of her dress up over her hips while she pulls at his pants, which fall to the floor with a soft swish. “God you’re wet,” his fingers are between her legs again, purposefully stroking her the way he knows she likes, and he tips his forehead against hers as her knees waver. Emily’s own fingers close around him and he flexes in her hand. “Fuck me, Aaron,” she commands, inching away from him just enough that he has to stop. “Like you mean it.” 

His eyes darken; her heart flutters in her chest as he lines up and slams into her so hard she flies back on the desk. She wraps her hands around the back of his neck for leverage and digs her nails in as he begins to hammer into her relentlessly. Emily gasps, because he’s never been  _ this  _ rough, but it’s exactly what she needs in the moment. He must see the surprise in her face, because he cups her face with his free hand. “Is this what you meant?” He drives into her hard enough that the desk shakes this time. 

“Y-yes,” she trembles, her eyes starting to glaze over. “Just like this.” 

Aaron’s eyes are dark; a bead of sweat is starting to form above his eyebrow. He’s concentrating to keep her on edge, rhythmically thrusting into her, and he knows the moment he’s about to push her over the edge. Her body starts to tremble, her arms come around his neck, searching for leverage, and they’re so close together they’re practically one.

When his lips smooth over the space between her breasts, pressing a kiss just above her heart, she tightens around him and then her muscles start to tense, and she goes slack against him with a sharp cry, her vision starting to blur. Aaron finishes shortly after. He’s moaning her name as he spills into her, his own legs starting to give out beneath him. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Aaron kisses her forehead as she slumps in his arms. He holds her for a few moments until her breathing returns to normal, running his fingers through her hair and down her back. “You are incredible.” 

Emily sighs, dazed and exhausted. “I guess this means my fifteen minutes are up.” 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He reaches for a box of tissues - one of the only objects on the desk that hasn’t been knocked over - and uses a few to wipe away the sticky mess on her inner thighs. Emily rearranges her dress, pulling the straps up and over her shoulders and fixes the skirt. She buttons his pants and fixes his collar, hands him his suit jacket. 

He says it before he can stop himself. “Come over tonight.” 

She stops, her hand on the doorknob, her back towards him. “What?” 

“You heard me.” 

Her eyes widen in surprise as she turns around. “Is that a good idea? Haven’t you forgotten about the little showdown in my mother’s office the other day?”

He’s still fixing his clothes - tucking his shirt in, brushing off his suit jacket. To anyone else, nothing looks awry. But Emily knows if her mother gets too close, she’ll know something is up instantly. “Since when have you cared about what your mother thinks?” 

“You clearly don’t anymore.” She laughs, meeting his gaze. “When do you get off?” 

“My shift ends at eleven, but it’ll take me a little longer to get out of here tonight. I could pick you up at the South Gate.” 

She nods; his plan  _ could  _ work. “I’ll meet you there at 11:30.” She reaches to open the door and then pauses, stopping again. “What do you want from all of this, Aaron?” 

He shuffles across the floor, coming to stand mere inches behind her; his hand resting on her hip. “You.” 

Before she can talk herself into staying another minute she hurries out. The door closes with a resounding click behind her, leaving Aaron alone in the silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 29!


	29. Twenty-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” “Oh, I am,” he says, and she believes him, based on the way his eyes haven’t left her since he started. “Are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi everyone! Here we are for chapter 29, which I can't believe. Thank you all for your sweet comments with each chapter - hearing your thoughts always makes my day and puts a huge smile on my face. Just a forewarning, this chapter is definitely rated M, and I hope I didn't get too carried away with this one. Let me know what you think! Also, we are in for more than 30 chapters - I know it says 30 here, but never fear, there's more to come!

**Chapter 29: Better Man**

_ Waitin', watchin' the clock, it's four o'clock, it's got to stop. Tell him, "take no more, " she practices her speech _

_ As he opens the door, she rolls over. Pretends to sleep as he looks her over _

_ She lies and says she's in love with him, can't find a better man _

_ She dreams in color, she dreams in red, can't find a better man _

“So now what? He’s gone? Just like that?” Allison reaches for the steaming latte on the table in front of her, staring at Emily with a curious expression. “I’m still fuzzy on some of these details.” 

“Pretty much.” Emily studies her fingernails, making a face at her friend, wondering just how much she should share. “I don’t know how you’re drinking that. It’s like one hundred degrees outside.” There’s an iced coffee in front of her; she has yet to touch it. Caffeine probably isn’t the best idea right now, considering the fact she’s been jittery since last week. She takes a reluctant sip anyway to busy her hands. It already has a numbing effect. She isn’t sure if that’s a good thing, but decides to go with it. 

“You haven’t lived until you’ve had one of these lattes. I’ve been craving one for days.” Allison closes her eyes at the first sip before continuing. “But I  _ wish _ I had been a fly on the wall for  _ that _ showdown. How pissed off was your mother when all of this happened?” 

“Pretty pissed. But I’ve seen worse.” Something that looks like a grin crosses Emily’s face **.** In the last week or so, she’s had more than enough time to process the entire ordeal, and despite the initial shock of everything that went down, not much has changed between them. The only difference is Aaron isn’t on the premises anymore. It doesn’t matter though, because she spends most of her evenings at his place now anyway. She  _ does _ wonder if her mother has any inkling. Emily suspects she probably does, but there’s  _ very _ little Elizabeth can do at this point. 

_ She got her way; she can’t prove anything.  _

“She’s slightly terrifying on a normal day.” Allison shudders at the image of the Ambassador currently crossing through her mind. 

“She’s definitely something. But most of the time she’s all talk.” Emily isn’t really in the mood to discuss her mother today. It’s not worth it. 

“I’d say she’s a little more than that, Emily,” Allison drawls. “I’ve known her for  _ years _ and she still intimidates me. Shane has some stories about her, too.” 

“What’s going on there, anyway?” Emily leans forward, eager to change the subject, not bothering to hide her amusement. “Are you two  _ actually _ together?” 

“I wouldn’t go  _ that _ far. But he broke up with his girlfriend like right when I got back from vacation. We’ve gone for coffee a few times since then.” Allison beams, a hint of pink flushing her cheeks as she shyly tucks some hair behind her ear. “We’re supposed to go to dinner one day next week.” 

“I’m not surprised. Aaron said he thought something may have been going on between the two of you.” She feels like a horrible friend, because he had in fact mentioned it, yet Emily has barely given it any thought with everything else going on. In fact, she’s only seen Allison twice in the last few weeks. It’s almost scary how much has changed since then. 

“I told him to keep it quiet until things are more figured out, but supposedly Aaron knew right away something was different. At least that’s what Shane said.”

Emily can’t help but smile. Typical Allison, unable to commit without definity **.** Typical Aaron, for figuring it all out like he normally does. She can’t say she’s surprised. About either one of them, really. She’s about to press for more details when she realizes Allison is still talking. “ _ Emily!”  _

“What?” Emily is snapped out of her own thoughts, coming back to the present. 

“How’s he taking all of this?” Allison has clearly switched back to the original topic and leans back in her chair, picking one of her long red hairs off her blouse. 

“Aaron? Taking what? You and Shane?” 

“You know what I mean, Emily.” She gives Emily a quick glance, rolling her eyes at the feigned ignorance. “Considering he essentially got fired, I can’t help but feel sorry for the guy.” 

“He didn’t get fired, Allison. He  _ resigned. _ ” 

“Semantics. He essentially didn’t have another choice.” 

“Maybe. But either way, he technically wasn’t fired.” 

“Does he have a job lined up? What’s he even doing right now?”

“He has a few interviews scheduled. He’s been working security somewhere downtown, I think.” Emily shifts in her chair, purposefully keeping things vague. Over the last few days, she’s spent several nights at Aaron’s, and while the subject of his future work plans has come up, it’s only led to arguments. “He has an interview with the FBI soon.” 

“The FBI? Doing what?”

“I don’t know. He hasn’t said much about it. I’m not sure if I want to know.” 

She whistles. “That’s quite a step up. How do you feel about that?” 

“I don’t really have a choice now,” Emily grumbles. “I’ve known for awhile. He got selected for the interview a few weeks ago.” 

“So you are still seeing him.” It’s not so much of a question as it is a confirmation. “Even after everything with your mom?” 

“I guess you could say that.” 

“Good,” Allison says, sounding slightly relieved. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to just end it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emily feels defensive and put on the spot. Leave it to Allison to see right through her. 

Allison rolls her eyes. “Does your mother have any idea? She’d probably kill you both if she knew this was still going on. I’m surprised she hasn’t figured it out already.” 

“She thinks I’ve been spending a lot of time with you,” Emily mumbles, feeling foolishly immature at the admission. “Or at least that’s what I’ve been telling her.”  _ To be completely honest, she doesn’t really care at this point what her mother thinks.  _

“Not surprised.” Allison folds her arms over her chest, watching Emily with expectant eyes, as if waiting for her to keep talking. When she’s silent, Allison prods again. “Have you two figured out what the hell you’re doing? Or what you’re going to do when you go back to Yale?”

“Not really. Or maybe? I don’t know.” Tapping her fingers against the plastic cup in front of her, she adds before she can stop herself, “I told him I love him.” 

Allison’s eyes nearly pop right out of her head, not completely sure she’s heard Emily correctly. “ _ You said what?”  _

“You heard me.” 

“When was this? How did I miss this?” 

“After Aaron almost got himself killed a few weeks ago.” 

“Whoa.” Allison takes a thoughtful sip of her latte, watching Emily as if she might run away. “I mean, they say timing is everything. Nothing like a near-death experience to bring out the honesty.” She’s slightly kidding, yet her face is serious. 

“It seemed like the right thing to do,” Emily says with a touch of humor, not missing the way Allison’s eyes light up too. 

“Okay,  _ Miss I Don’t Fall In Love _ ,” Allison quips, using air quotes in a slightly mocking tone. “What did I tell you weeks ago? I knew it.” Triumphantly, she pumps a fist into the air and nearly knocks over her drink. 

“I don’t know, Al.” Emily swipes a lock of hair out of her face, pressing her fingers to her eyes. “It’s so complicated.” 

“What is?” 

“Loving someone,” Emily says simply, her shoulders sagging. “It’s exhausting sometimes.”

“Of course it is. You have to work at it, Emily.” 

“I’ve never had much luck with that before, have I?” 

“Maybe not, but it’s worth a shot.” 

“I don’t know. It could end terribly. It usually always does.” 

“It could, but you should give it a chance. You  _ know _ he loves you too.” 

“I knew you’d say that.” She decides to ignore the second remark. 

“It’s because I’m right. You’re happier when you’re with him, Emily. You’re not as miserable. It’s kind of nice, honestly. I don’t think you’ve said one negative thing since we sat down. Until just now.” 

“I haven’t been keeping track,” Emily says wryly. 

“Maybe you should start.” Allison finishes the rest of her latte and grabs her bag. “Come on. We have things to do.” 

Emily follows her absently, putting one foot in front of the other yet not entirely sure where they’re going, her mind all but a tangled mess of thoughts. 

…

Four days before she goes back to Yale, she comes to him again (she almost prefers his place now), and she knows right away something is different. The apartment smells fantastic - he’d offered to make dinner - and her stomach actually grumbles. “Sorry I’m late,” she calls over the sound of whatever is cooking on the stove. “Traffic was terrible.” 

He comes to the door anyway, kissing her cheek as she crosses over the threshold of his apartment, shaking out her umbrella. The scent of her shampoo floods his nose as she brushes past him and slips out of her rain jacket. 

“Food’s almost done,” he attempts casually as he darts back into the kitchen, but there’s something he’s not telling her. She can just tell. In fact, he barely makes eye contact when she settles in one of the dining room chairs, a glass of wine in her hand. He busies himself with reaching for plates, dishing pasta and getting silverware. 

“Something on your mind, Aaron?” 

He’s balancing both plates on his one arm, silverware in the other, and she catches onto the fact that he avoids her gaze as he comes around the small island to the table. Emily takes the silverware and one of the plates, hastily setting the table. 

“I have some news.” 

“Oh?” She lifts an eyebrow, wondering what ball he’s about to drop. 

“I made it to phase 2 of the FBI screening process.” 

_ Of course he did.  _

“That’s great news,” she says, with as much excitement as she can muster, which isn’t much. “Doesn’t that normally take a lot longer?” 

“Apparently someone called and put in a good word for me. Happen to know anyone with connections like that? Pretty sure that doesn’t just happen.” He looks slightly suspicious, one eyebrow cocked at an angle. 

Emily sighs, wondering if her mother had anything to do with it. “Nope.” She truly doesn’t - she doesn’t even want him to join in the first place. 

“They just called today,” he adds hastily when he sees her face. “I figured I would wait to tell you in person.” 

“I’m glad you did,” she says, slowly picking up her wine and trying to sound enthused. “That’s really good news. So what’s next?” 

“I go in for another interview. A meet and greet type thing.” 

“That’s great,” she says with forced enthusiasm, holding her fork just a little too tightly. 

He isn’t fooled; her reticence is too telling. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Emily.” He sits down in the seat beside her, picking up his own fork. 

“I’m not thinking anything, Aaron. I’m just hungry.” She suddenly wishes she were anywhere but there at that moment.

“You? Hungry?” He teases, yet he knows it’s probably just an attempt to ward him off, to end the conversation. When she doesn’t say anything, her eyes dropping to the plate, he strokes her bare arm. “Talk to me.” 

A minute goes by, or is it ten? She loses track; the pasta starts to blur together on the plate in a mess of red.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” she says, unable to hide the trace of fear in her voice. “I don’t know what I’d do if …” she trails off, unable to vocalize the words she’s been holding in her mind for so long. “If something happened, or if things change.” 

“Nothing is going to change, Emily. It’ll be different, and we both know that. But I love you. I want to make this work.” 

_ If only you knew how wrong you are, _ she thinks, and she realizes she isn’t hungry anymore. “Everything is going to change once I leave,” she says sadly, unable to control the waver in her voice. 

“Have a little faith,” he says, sounding completely sure, reaching for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Uncertainty isn’t always a  _ bad _ thing, Emily. You don’t always have to control  _ every  _ situation.” 

“I like being in control.” It’s the truth. She thrives on control; it’s the only way she knows how to function. When she’s in control, she can’t get hurt. Or can she? 

“I know you do.” He squeezes her hand this time. “But you don’t always have to be, you know.” 

She picks up her fork again, twirling it through the pasta mindlessly. “Maybe you’re right.” She doesn’t feel like discussing it anymore.

“We’ll figure it out. We’ll find a way.” He’s still holding her hand; he still sounds so sure of everything it makes her head hurt. 

Emily merely nods, wishing she could believe him. 

They settle in their own respective thoughts, with nothing but the sound of silverware scraping the plates to fill the silence. 

**…**

After their dinner, they watch a movie. He lets her pick, and she does, yet she doesn’t even remember what it is when it starts to play. She barely pays attention, even though her eyes are glued to the screen. Aaron is more than aware of the fact that she’s lost in her own thoughts, because she barely reacts to anything that’s happening. 

They’re less than halfway through when he flicks the TV off, reaching for her. She doesn’t move, just eyes him warily. Everything she hasn’t said is visible on her face.  _ Fear. Uncertainty. Doubt. _

“Come with me.” He’s holding out his hand, a look on his face she can’t quite identify. She’s slightly dizzy when she stands up. He leads her to his bedroom, stopping in the middle of the room, without saying a single word. 

“Off,” he says finally, reaching for the button on her jeans, flicking it open and pushing them down over her hips. Giving him a slightly suspicious look, she finishes the job, stepping out of them and kicking them into a corner. He leaves the rest, but eyes her hungrily, and points to the bed. “Lay down.” There’s a severity, an intensity, in his tone she’s heard before, but never  _ this _ intense. It sends a shiver down her spine. 

Emily settles on her back as he dims the lights, and when his eyes rest on her he shakes his head. Just what his intentions are, she isn’t sure. He’s been quieter than usual for most of the evening, and she’s been more than content to just enjoy the silence. 

“Face down,” he commands, his voice low and steady. She looks at him tentatively, doubtful, a slight touch of anxiety ghosting over her features. Aaron cups her face in his hands, cradles her neck and drops a kiss to her forehead. “You trust me, right?” 

She nods, albeit slowly, wide eyed and intrigued as she rolls to her side, still hesitating. Of course she does, and it might be the first time she’s ever admitted  _ that _ to anyone. 

His heart swells at her admission.  _ That’s my girl _ , he thinks **,** despite the nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him it won’t be this good for long.

“On your stomach,” he coaxes her and this time she obliges, pressing her cheek against his pillows, arms and legs unfurling on either side. His breath hitches at the sight of her like this, and when he sits beside her he can see her shaking already. “Lie still,” he whispers into her ear, running his hand down her back. She trembles involuntarily, craning her neck to look at him. 

“Aaron?” She doesn’t have the upper hand anymore; her heart slams in her chest. “What are you doing?” 

“Still,” he reminds her, firmly resting his hand on the small of her back until she stops shifting. “That’s it.” 

“ _ Aaron,” _ Emily’s voice is so timid and uncertain.  _ She hates giving up control, he knows, but maybe for tonight, unraveling that control might just be the thing.  _

He crouches beside her head, strokes her back reassuringly now. “Relax Emily,” his breath tickles her ear. “I’ve got you.” 

She nods, and when he disappears into his closet and returns with 4 neck ties in his fist, her eyes widen impossibly, a mix of intrigue and apprehension. “You’re not actually going to -” 

He shushes her with kisses, fingers coming to close gently around her wrist. Emily feels the soft brush of silk against her skin, wrapping around just tight enough to feel  _ something _ start to burn inside of her, and the slack in the tie goes taut as he secures the other end around the bedpost. 

_ Oh my God, _ she thinks. _ He’s not actually serious.  _

Except he is. He’s completely serious, judging by the way he’s focused on his task of securing her to his bed. Heat pools between her legs immediately, the all too familiar ache building until she’s throbbing, yet he’s barely even touched her. He’s already fixed the tie around her other wrist with just as much precision, and is dutifully working on her ankles, his fingers gentle yet the tie firm. When he’s done, she’s face down on his bed, spread out, her limbs bound to each corner of his bed. As much as she _hates_ giving up control, she’s so turned on at this point it doesn’t even matter.

“You trust me, right?” He asks again as he checks the tie securing her left ankle. Satisfied, he takes a few steps back from the bed. 

“Mmhm,” she manages, and the ache between her legs is starting to become too much to bear. She’s shocked at her own body’s reaction. 

Aaron admires his handiwork briefly, already growing ridiculously hard as he tosses his shirt somewhere in the corner and leaves his belt on the floor. Emily is still watching him, except now she looks like she might just be eagerly anticipating what he’s about to do.

“Aaron?” she asks again, and he settles beside her, briefly kissing her bare shoulder. 

“Yes sweetheart?” He shifts to kiss her spine, lips dancing down each vertebrae to the small of her back and up again to the nape of her neck, and he feels the goosebumps rising on her skin. 

“What are you doing?” She asks again, her voice is almost hoarse. She looks almost confused, but her eyes are already hooded, even though he’s barely even touched her. 

**“** I’m about to take you apart, Emily.” His hand slides over the curve of her hip and then between her legs, finding her nearly soaked already. She cries out, lifting her hips in response but he pushes her right back down onto the mattress. “Not yet,” Aaron pulls his hand away from her and Emily practically yelps at the loss of contact. Her arms pull against the ties, and she groans in frustration when there’s indeed nothing else she can do but wait. “God damnit, Aaron,” she shudders, frustration evident in her tone. 

“Patience,” he croons, her eyes glazing and unfocused. “When you can hold still, I’ll try again.” 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” 

“Oh, I am,” he says, and she believes him, based on the way his eyes haven’t left her since he started. “Are you?” 

She nods, turning her neck so she can see his face; he brushes her hair away from her eyes tenderly and kisses her lips. “Maybe.” 

“I think it’s a little more than that,” he winks. “Let’s try again,” he says, and though just a few minutes have passed, any sense of time is lost on her. And when his fingers glide against her clit, then press inside of her and up, she shivers and her entire body starts to shake. She’s trembling again within seconds, her body straining against the restraints now, and she’s about to lose control when he pulls his hand away once again. 

“God damnit, Aaron,” she moans, bereft, trying in vain not to whimper with need. 

“You’re close, aren’t you, sweetheart?” He asks, even though he knows the answer. She’s  _ so  _ close; he knows her body well enough by this point. He could take her over the edge in seconds. But watching her fall apart against her own devices, until she’s practically pleading for him, is more rewarding. 

“I need you,” she whimpers, her skin starting to glisten with sweat, cheek pressed into the pillow. “Aaron,” she sounds frantic as she thrashes, practically lifting herself off the mattress with effort.

“How, sweetheart?” He’s sitting beside her now, his hand resting on her hip. “Like this?” he dips his fingers into her, curling up and in, then skates his thumb over her clit again, and she starts to unravel, her hips thrusting up and back into the air. 

“Don’t you dare stop,” she demands, but her voice is muffled into the pillow. 

“Or this?” He bends down and presses his lips against her and caresses her in a circle, then flicks his tongue back and forth. She’s not expecting  _ that, _ and she whimpers so loudly he prays his neighbors aren’t awake.

“Shhh,” he soothes, brushing his nose against the delicate skin of her inner thighs before bringing his mouth to her again. “Not so loud, sweetheart.” 

She’s shaking her head against the pillows, her hair matted in clumps against her damp shoulders. “ _ Aaron _ ,” she uses his name like it’s the only word she knows, her body starting to give out from effort. “I - Jesus Christ, just fuck me. I don’t care how.” 

He teases her with his tongue once again, continuing until she can barely take it anymore, and then he knows it’s time. “Kneel up,” he says, lifting her up just enough so that he’s pressed against the back of her spread thighs, their bodies practically one at this point. He lines his hips against the back of her and drives into her with one push, her entire body jolting forward at the force. 

“Oh my God.” her voice is raspy; her skin is flushed and damp with sweat. Her hips push back against his, wanting more. 

Aaron wraps an arm around her waist, holding her up and thrusting into her at the same time. It’s hard and fast, and the noises coming from her are bringing  _ him _ so close that he has to close his eyes to concentrate on  _ her _ first. “Come, Emily.” Reaching around her hip, he reaches down to stroke her in time with the movements of his hips. He’s moving erratically already; he’s not going to last much longer like this. “Come on, sweetheart. Come for me.” 

As if on cue, she tightens around him and her head flies back, her body going slack and he uses nearly all his strength to hold her up, keeping her from collapsing into the mattress. He’s close too, and as she shudders through the remnants of her own climax, he thrusts once more before spilling into her with a grunt, his arm wrapped around her hips to keep her right there. 

“God, I love you,” Aaron utters the words as he holds her to him, his chest tightly pressed against her back, his body rounded around hers. “I love you so  _ fucking  _ much.” He slides a hand up between her breasts and feels the steady beat of her heart under his fingertips. 

“I love you too,” Emily pushes her hips back once more, and he can feel her legs shaking. Her arms are already starting to go numb from the angle they’ve been stretched in; the ties are digging into her wrists. “So  _ fucking _ much.” She repeats his words, letting her head fall back against his shoulder again.

He’s barely recovered from his own release before he quickly unties her, his lips soothing the red marks that mar the delicate skin of her ankles and wrists. “I’ll get you some ice,” he kisses her as he rolls her onto her back but she shakes her head, looping her legs around his waist and kissing him right back. “I don’t need ice, Aaron. I’m fine.” She brushes his hair from his face, her eyes never leaving his. “Just lay with me.” 

He pulls her into his arms, tucking her against his chest carefully, leaving lazy kisses along the shell of her ear and her jaw, drumming his fingers against her hip. It’s as if they’ve been doing this for years, and his throat tightens when he remembers soon enough, they won’t be.

She’s already dozing off when he crawls out of bed and returns with ice packs, applying them to her wrists and ankles. She opens her eyes at the cold yet soothing sensation against her skin, eyeing him with a knowing smile. “I told you I’m fine,” she says, but doesn’t pull away. 

“You’ll bruise,” he says, and it’s only then she notices he looks guilty.

“I don’t care,” she says, reaching up to stroke his face with her fingertips. She truly doesn’t, and yet she’ll secretly never stop loving how  _ safe _ he makes her feel. “I’m so tired,” she yawns, settling back into the pillows. “You wore me out.” 

“I hope I didn't get too carried away,” he can’t help but notice how exhausted she now looks, and he pulls the sheet up over her shoulder along with the blanket. 

“You didn’t,” she attempts, but her eyes are already starting to flutter shut even though she’s smiling. “It was fun. We should do it again.” 

“Go to sleep,” he kisses her softly one more time. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

“I know you will.” As she falls asleep, she wonders not for the first time that despite everything, Aaron just might be her heart’s match. 

**…**

It hasn’t fully hit her that she’s going back to Yale in the morning. 

Even though her flight leaves at 9 AM - she hardly has anything packed. Various sized boxes are everywhere - those will be shipped to New Haven in the next few days. There are clothes in piles on the floor mixed with numerous other odds and ends. She isn’t sure how she’s accumulated all this  _ stuff _ , but somehow, it all has to be packed by the morning. 

The only thing she actually  _ has _ packed are the 6 bottles of liquor she’s somehow acquired, neatly lined up by the door. Those will be shipped overnight, of course. He’s about to ask when she all but leaps into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, and suddenly he doesn’t care anymore. 

“How did you get in? I told you to call me when you were outside.” The door is quickly shut behind them and locked, then a quick add of the deadbolt for good measure. 

“I have my ways,” he says with a slightly devious grin. “You’re not the only one who knows this place like the back of your hand.” He hoists her up a little higher, burying his face in her neck and breathing her in. “Missed you,” he murmurs, not missing the way she shivers in his arms. 

“Then what are you waiting for?” She tangles her fingers in his hair, tightening her legs around him.

Aaron’s lips meld to hers, kissing her deeply, biting her bottom lip in between his teeth as she moans. “Are you complaining?” 

Emily rocks her hips into his, already starting to feel the ache pulling in her lower stomach. Shaking her head, she moans into his mouth and it’s all he needs before he’s walking them both toward the large bed in the middle of the room. She giggles as he places her down onto the mattress, then watches him with wide, darkened eyes as he undoes his belt, then pulls his shirt over his head before coming down to cover her body with his. 

He’s inside of her within moments, except it feels like too long, and when he drops his head to kiss her before he starts to move, she sighs contentedly and smiles into his mouth.

...

Nearly two hours later, they’re sitting on the floor surrounded by boxes, sipping from one of the bottles of wine and eating some crackers and cheese she’d found in the kitchen. She’s haphazardly packed a few things in the last few minutes, shoving articles of clothing into a suitcase here, a few things into a bag there. It’s clear her mind is elsewhere; Aaron can’t help but want to ask her what’s  _ really _ going through her head. 

Instead of having any actual conversation, they’re playing truth or dare. It’d been her idea of course and he begrudgingly said yes, because he’s finding all he wants is to make her happy. 

“Truth or dare.” 

“Truth.” 

“The best sex we ever had.” She pops a cracker into her mouth, looking at him with the slightest smirk on her face.

“The first time, for sure.” 

She closes her eyes at the memory; back when things were seemingly much more simple than they’re about to get when she crosses several state lines tomorrow. 

_ Except were they ever simple at all? _

“Really? That’s such a cliche.” She rests her head on his shoulder, sliding her cheek across the soft cotton t-shirt he’d thrown on after they finally pulled themselves out of her bed. “You can do better than that.” 

He thinks about it for a moment. “Last week, then.” His legs are stretched out in front of him, his hand on her bare calf. He is, of course, referring to the night he tied her to his bedpost and took her apart. He’s done it again since then, the last time he included a blindfold as she laid on her back in the middle of her bed, his head between her legs until she  _ couldn’t _ take it anymore. 

“Good answer,” she murmurs, fluttering her eyelashes with just enough coyness to make his breath hitch. “I might have to agree with you. It’s your turn.” 

“Truth or dare.” 

“Dare.” 

“I dare you to say the first thing that comes to your mind.” 

She hesitates for only a brief second. It comes out as a whisper. She curls her legs to her chest and wraps her arm around her bare legs. “I’m really going to miss you when I’m gone.” 

They both fall silent, avoiding the other’s gaze. She reaches for her wine with a shaky hand, lifting the plastic cup up to her lips. It tastes bitter now, but she takes a long sip anyway, wishing it didn’t make her head feel as heavy as it does. Maybe it isn’t the wine. 

“What would your mother say if she knew I was here?” 

Emily considers him for a minute, a sad smile rolling across her lips. “It’s probably a good thing she’s out of the country.” 

“You’re probably right.” He stretches his legs and leans against the side of her bed, crossing one ankle over the other, eyeing the locked door of her bedroom. It’d been risky getting in. Even though he still knows the security codes, there are still cameras everywhere - he can’t risk getting seen on one. 

_ This is it _ . 

She packs two suitcases before she gives up for the night, partly because she’s over it, and partly because Aaron is getting impatient. He distracts her with kisses and gentle touches until she all but gives up packing, throwing the remaining pile of clothes onto the floor. It’s Emily who pushes him back toward the bed, straddling his hips, making her intentions known as she pulls her t-shirt over her head, adding it to the pile of clothes.

He flips them over with ease, settling into the cradle of her hips as he bends his head down to kiss her as he slides inside with one sharp push of his hips. 

...

Neither of them get much sleep that night. They talk until their voices blend together, words floating back and forth except they aren’t really saying anything at all. 

_ Maybe they don’t have to.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 30 coming soon!


	30. Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s exactly the same, yet she feels like things have changed, and every single one of them has to do with her. It’s what tells her it has to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all - we're back for chapter 30 ... which is crazy to me. I'm sorry for the delay in updates - I may have mentioned this before, but I'm at the point where I don't have as much written for the upcoming chapters as I did for the first 30, so it's taking me a bit longer to get them done. Thank you for still being here - I love reading all your comments and they always make me so happy. And if you're here from tiktok ;) , welcome, and thank you! As always, enjoy! <3

**Chapter 30: As It Seems**

_ Well I lost my innocence when in I let him dive _

_ But the way that he looked at me made me feel alive _

_ And now I know nothing at all, but the release that comes when you're in mid fall _

Her third night back at Yale, she gets  _ ridiculously _ drunk. It wasn’t  _ supposed _ to happen, but of course it does, and she’s so intoxicated she can barely see straight when Allison finally decides it’s time to go home, for both of their sakes. 

How they get back to her apartment in one piece is a mystery - Allison is  _ just _ as bad as she is, if not more so, and once they’re safely inside and step out of their heels, they fumble through the nearly-empty cabinets in search of some late night snacks. It’s really Allison who is doing the searching - Emily isn’t even close to hungry, but her head is spinning, and even in this state she knows if she doesn’t try to eat  _ something _ , she’s going to pay for it dearly in the morning. She sinks into a chair, resting her head on her hands. The room is spinning, her mind is too, and she’s fading fast, desperately in need of sleep, when she realizes Allison is talking to her. 

“Youmiss him, donchu?” 

_ You miss him, don’t you? _

Only Emily would be able to decipher Allison’s drunken slur. “What are you talking about?” In her head she’s acting  _ completely _ normal, but that’s clearly not the case. 

“Aaron,” Allison reaches for a bag of pretzels shoved on one of the higher shelves. “Youmisshim.” It comes out as one word again as her legs are practically buckling underneath of her and she slumps onto the floor. “Don’t … don’t lie to me.” Her voice is high pitched and breathy; her movements are uncoordinated. She’s hugging the pretzels to her chest, adding regretfully, “Maybe I shouldn’t have had that fourth cup of punch.”

Emily stares at her friend in a drunken haze. If she doesn’t concentrate, her head is going to hit her knees because she can barely sit up straight. “I’m fine, Al. I’m just drunk,” she groans, trying to ignore the roiling in her stomach. “Too much tequila.” She’d lost track of how much she’d had a long time ago. 

“Me too,” her friend drawls again, her eyes glazed and makeup smeared under her eyes. Beside her on the floor, Allison is frantically pulling at the bag, trying in vain to open the seam. She does with just a little too much enthusiasm, and the bag splits open with force.

The pretzels fly everywhere like confetti, raining through the air, and both girls watch with drunken confusion, then realization of the mess that will surely await them in a few hours. 

“Oops,” Allison giggles then breaks into a fit of laughter, throwing her head back clumsily. Emily wants to laugh too, but the growing lump in her throat has gotten too big, the spinning behind her eyes is making her insanely dizzy. 

She doesn’t attempt to clean up the pretzels, but stares at them momentarily confused, stepping on a few as she reaches into one of the cabinets. She  _ desperately _ needs some water, so does Allison, judging by their current state.

She fills two glasses of water, handing one to Allison, who is now quickly falling asleep even from her place on the floor, covered in pretzels, the bag still in her hands. Emily covers her mouth with her hand to stifle a sob. 

_ I miss him _ , Emily thinks, finally admitting to herself what she’d been trying to forget since she’d tugged the short dress she’s wearing down over her hips hours before. Except it hits her like a sledgehammer, and she’s not sure if it’s that or the headache that makes a blinding light flash behind her eyes. 

_ She knows what’s about to happen next. _

She makes it just in time to the bathroom, throwing the lid to the toilet open before she folds in half, vomiting profusely into the bowl as she falls to her knees. Her back strains with effort; her eyes water controllably, and only when she starts retching again does she realize her eyes aren’t actually watering, it’s tears that drip onto her cheeks.

“You good Em?” She hears Allison calling to her, her voice muffled. 

“Yeah,” Emily croaks, but she isn’t really that good at all. 

_ Old habits die hard _ , she thinks when her head hits the pillow a short time later, and everything behind her eyes is spinning in violent circles. The phone is already in her hands, but she knows she can’t call him. It’s  _ late _ , and it’s a weeknight. He’s  _ definitely _ sleeping. Waking him would only worry him, and only lead to some uncomfortable conversations. Plus, she hasn’t even been gone an entire week. It’s only after she’s dialed half of his number she quickly slams the phone down, telling herself it won’t happen again. Not like this. 

She knows it’s a lie. 

…

The next time it happens, two days later, she’s not as drunk, but just as sad. Tonight it’s a delicate limbo of wanting to drink until she can’t feel anything and knowing if she has too much, she’ll end up a blubbering mess. Neither sound appealing, and she _tries_ to push him out of her mind all night, pretending to have fun, laughing and carrying on with the rest of their friend group, until she just can’t pretend anymore. 

She starts feeling three drinks in and stops herself at five, ducking into the small bedroom of her friend’s apartment, dialing the numbers she’s memorized by now on the phone next to the bed. 

“Hi,” she says when he picks up, and she has to concentrate to not slur her words too much. Checking her watch, she knows she probably woke him up - it’s a little after midnight, and while it’s  _ early _ for her crowd, he’s definitely been asleep for a few hours. 

“Emily? Is everything alright?” 

_ She can almost see him sit up and turn the light on.  _

“I’m fine Aaron,” she breathes, the sound of his voice making the lump in her throat double in size. “I just wanted to talk to you.” 

“Are you drunk?” He asks even though he doesn’t have to. 

“Not exactly.” If only she can hold off whatever is threatening to spill over. Her voice is thick, that much she can’t hide. 

“Not exactly?” He chuckles, and he sounds so  _ close _ , she has to blink to remind herself he’s actually hundreds of miles away. Then he adds, gently. “Are you okay?” 

“I had a few drinks. Not too many.” Except it doesn’t sound convincing. 

“For some reason, I think it may have been more than that.” He doesn’t sound angry or concerned, he actually sounds amused. Then his voice lowers when he adds, “I’ve been thinking about you.” 

Her eyes burn; her stomach twists. “Oh yeah?” 

“It’s been a few days since we’ve talked,” he says, and she wants to kick herself for not calling him sooner. “I figured you were busy getting settled,” he adds. 

“I’ve been …,” she loses her train of thought for a minute. He did call her twice; she just didn’t pick up. “I miss you.” It’s the truth, but it feels so wrong to say out loud. She’s not  _ supposed _ to miss him. She’s supposed to  _ want  _ to be at Yale, enjoying the fact her mother is several state lines and hundreds of miles away, and she has her  _ freedom _ . But she’s not - all she wants is to be back with him. It’s  _ so _ unlike her. If she weren’t so close to tears, she might laugh. 

“I miss you too, sweetheart,” he says, and she can tell he means it. “Are you having fun? **”**

_ She wants to say no, but that would worry him too. She wants to scream - this wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him. No. This was never part of the plan. None of it ever was. And now she’s in so deep, she isn’t sure if she can stop.  _

From behind the closed door, Emily can hear someone in the living room calling her name, and then the volume of the music gets louder, punctuated by the sound of smashing glass and the thunder of voices rising above the music. It gives her a headache; her mind flashes back to Paris, back to the early days of summer, and she blinks back a tear. 

“I have to go, Aaron,” she whispers, wishing she could run right out the apartment. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow, sweetheart.” He pauses for a moment before adding, “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

When the line goes dead, Emily buries her face in her knees and sobs. 

…

With her in New Haven and him in DC, there’s not much else they can do except talk on the phone, which they do - often. He starts to call her every night around 7, when he’s home from his shift, but it’s not the same, and with each passing day, Emily’s heart starts to fray into pieces whenever she sees his number flashing on the screen.

August quickly turns into September, and September fades into October with the blink of an eye. Before she knows it, her birthday is only days away. It’s also midterm week, and while normally she wouldn’t care, she figures it wouldn’t be a  _ bad _ idea to study at least a little bit. She’s always been able to get by with the least amount of effort, but this semester is harder, despite her inherent lack of motivation. 

She’s barely cracked a book when he calls  _ this time _ , and she answers on the third ring. It’s an easy conversation; they talk about the usual topics. She’s about to tell him she has to get back to studying when his words stop her in her tracks.

“Your birthday is next week,” he says out of nowhere. 

“I - You remembered.” She twists the phone cord around her hand. She’s not surprised, to be honest. _ Of course he would remember.  _

“Of course I did.” She can almost see him smiling, and the familiar burn behind her eyes intensifies. “Do you have any plans in mind?” 

“Not really.” It’s partly the truth - she’ll certainly  _ find _ something to do. Allison had mentioned something about a new club in New Haven the other day; there are  _ always _ at least a few house parties on campus. Of course, she doesn’t want to tell him about  _ that.  _ Over the last few weeks she’s called him drunk on more than one occasion, and while he typically is a good sport about it, he  _ still  _ worries. They’d talked about the possibility of him coming up to visit, but he hasn’t mentioned anything in over a week, and she’s hesitant to push the issue now that he has a good reason. 

“I wanted to come up,” he says softly, sounding slightly regretful. “But I have to work,” he adds, and Emily wishes she could throw something against the wall. For all of this - for starting it, for being in  _ this  _ deep, for  _ wishing _ he could just quit his job, or she could fucking  _ leave _ Yale. 

“It’s fine, Aaron. I’m not angry. You have to work. It’s your job. It’s fine.” She sounds more confident than she feels, twisting her hair over her finger absentmindedly. 

“I’m not supposed to work weekends,” he grumbles, wondering why she sounds so  _ far away _ , literally and figuratively. “I got scheduled last minute.” 

“We’ll figure something out,” Emily tells him quietly, repeating his words from right before she’d left in August. “We always do.” 

She wishes she could believe it herself. 

...

Aaron decides to surprise her anyway, and makes plans to take her out to dinner in downtown New Haven for her 20th birthday. After a brief review of the restaurants in the area, he realizes he can barely afford any of them, even on his new security salary. 

That being said, he ultimately decides on one of the most high end, tiny Italian places close to Yale’s campus, and books a train ticket once he gets paid. Then he calls in sick, taking two days off. He hasn’t told her about his impromptu visit, but as he boards the train and it pulls out of DC, he hopes he’s not making a mistake. 

When he shows up at her apartment without warning, less than an hour after she finishes her last midterm, the shock in her face is more than evident. He doesn’t have a chance to say anything before she leaps into his arms and locks her legs around his waist, holding on tightly. Something that closely resembles a sob escapes from her throat, not once, but twice. It comes out as a strangled and slightly anguished cry; her body practically melting into his. “You’re actually here.” She doesn’t dare look him in the eyes.

_ It’s a moment of weakness _ , he realizes, knowing in that moment he’s caught her off guard - something that so rarely happens. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s managed to do so. She’s still clinging to him, her hair a dark sheet around them both; he’s still standing in the hallway of her apartment, holding her up. 

“I’m here, sweetheart.” Aaron holds her up easily, securing her against his chest with one arm and drags the other through her hair, exposing her neck. “I missed you.”  _ He’s only been counting down the days on his calendar since the day she left, crossing them off with the end of each phone call.  _ His teeth find her neck, leaving tiny red marks that will most likely resemble bruises by tomorrow. He steps through the door with her still in his arms, kicking the door shut with his foot. 

They don’t even make it close to her bedroom; instead he sets her on the couch and follows her down, kissing her everywhere his mouth can reach. She’s already reaching for his belt, yanking it out from around his waist, clumsily. “Fuck me, Aaron,” she digs her nails into his back, pressing her entire body up into him as the rest of their clothes end up on the floor.

“But we barely -” 

“I don’t  _ fucking _ care.” Her eyes are glazed with need, unfocused and wild. 

_ How long has it been? _ He thinks as he fumbles with his belt buckle. 

Within seconds he’s buried inside of her to the hilt, her muscles flexing around him tauntingly. It’s been  _ too _ long. She briefly winces as he moves, yet does her best to hide it because his eyes haven’t left hers since he’d laid her down on the couch. 

“I - I forgot how good this feels,” she sighs contentedly, eyelids fluttering shut, her hands palming his back, fingernails pressing into his skin. “How good  _ you _ feel.” 

“And you.” Aaron kisses her chest, his lips lingering around the space just where he imagines her heart would be. When he lifts his head, her eyes are closed, and he pauses, his lips closing on hers. “Open your eyes,” he murmurs, and when she does, his forehead presses against hers. “There you are. God, Emily, you’re beautiful.” 

She flushes, like she does almost every time he utters those words. “What are you waiting for?” She digs her heel into the back of his leg, urging him on.

Aaron starts to move again, his hips drive into her with such force that she has to grip the side of the couch for leverage. Normally she’d  _ love _ this - she never tires of all the ways he makes her come, over and over. But tonight it’s too much. It’s making her dizzy, disoriented, and she feels out of control. After a few minutes she shakes her head, squeezes him on either side with her knees. 

“What’s wrong, Emily?” He knows right away something is off, and pauses again, bending his neck to kiss her as he does. 

“Slow,” she whispers into his ear. “I don’t want it to end.” 

“We have all weekend, sweetheart.” But he can’t refuse her for anything, and when he starts to slow down like she asked, she smiles and she trails her hand down the side of his face with a soft moan. 

“Better?” He asks, taking her hands in one of his and holding them over her head. 

“Much,” she breathes, pressing her chest into his, lifting her hips into his as he drives into her with the precision that only he could show, filling her to completion. Each push of his hips takes her higher, and she’s so  _ close _ she could scream, but she doesn’t, and soon enough the only sound between them both is their heavy breathing. They’re completely lost in each other. 

Emily keens with pleasure and slips her hand between them, her fingers moving in practiced circles that she’s mastered in the almost two months she’s been without him. He’s almost transfixed by the sight in front of him, and when her legs start to shake around his hips he reaches down too, his hand covering hers, and she breaks with an almost inaudible moan. He can only tell by the flutter of her muscles, the way she pulls him toward her, the pounding of her heart against his chest. 

Afterward, they lay in her bed - this one is much smaller than the one in her mother’s house , but neither of them care. They can’t get any closer - he’s right behind her, his body curled around hers. For the first time in weeks, she fully relaxes. 

Over an hour later (after he makes her come a few more times -  _ “it’s been over a month,”  _ he said after he’d pushed her over the edge the last time), they have the semblance of mind to shower. Aaron carries her there, because her legs still don’t want to work when she  _ finally _ pulls herself out of bed. Except she’s on her knees within seconds of actually stepping into the water, and she sucks him off once more as the hot spray pours over them both. 

After  _ that _ , he watches her get ready while laying on her bed, mindlessly flipping through one of the books next to her bed.  _ Madame Bovary  _ is the book on top, clearly for a literature class _ .  _ There’s another one about economics, and a calculus book that doesn’t even look as if it’s been opened. She’s told him a little bit about her classes, a few bits and pieces here and there about Yale in general. But mostly, they’ve talked about non-committal things, and it hits him there’s so much he  _ doesn’t  _ know, now that there’s so much distance between them. 

“You know that’s in French, right?” Emily pokes her head from the bathroom door, a towel barely wrapped around her, a soft smile breaking her face when she sees what he’s looking at. 

“I noticed that.” He skims through the pages, noticing the various highlights, hastily scribbled notes, and dog-eared corners.  _ She really is too smart for her own good, _ he thinks. “That’s one I never read. What’s it about? 

“Despair and unhappiness,” she says dryly, brushing out her hair. “If you’re good, I can read it to you as a bedtime story later,” she winks. “In French.” 

“I might just take you up on that,” he says with a smirk, digging through his bag for the jacket and tie he’d hastily packed earlier that morning. Holding it up, he shakes it out, only to feel her gaze on him, the smile that was there moments before is now mysteriously gone.

“You’re wearing a tie?” Emily is running her fingers through her damp hair nervously, eyes widening slightly. “Is this a fancy place?” He’s never seemed to be interested in fancy, ostentatious things. A brief narrowing of her eyes elicits a response out of him. 

“You could say that,” he says, watching her face for her reaction. She looks intrigued, then an uncertain look ghosts over her face, and it’s discomfort he senses when he meets her heavy stare. She wraps the towel around her just a little bit more.  _ Was this whole thing a bad idea?  _

“Where are we going, Aaron?” She doesn’t sound angry, but there’s a hint of sadness in her voice he can’t miss. 

He debates lying, but she’s already on to him, wearing an expectant look on her face. “I made reservations at Tre Scalini the other day.” 

“You didn’t,” she says, not even bothering to hide the surprise on her face. “Did you  _ look _ at the prices before deciding this? Even my mother thinks that place is ridiculously priced. Amazing, but ridiculous.”

“It’s taken care of,” he tells her, rising up from her bed and coming to stand in front of her, looping his arms around her waist. “It’s your birthday,” he kisses the top of her head, the scent of her shampoo so familiar. Somewhere in his chest, he feels a subtle sting. “I wanted to take you out.” 

“It’s just a day,” Emily says, her damp hair tickling his cheek when she rises on her tiptoes to kiss him. “It’s no different than today or yesterday.” 

“You only turn twenty once.” 

She takes a deep breath; it takes more effort than it should. “I’m glad you're here” she says quietly, pressing her cheek against his shirt. 

...

“I still can’t believe you came all this way,” Emily says softly, locking the door behind her and dropping her keys into her purse. She’s ready now, wearing a dress and heels, her hair blown out smooth and straight, lips painted red. His throat goes dry when he sees her; he’s half tempted to bag dinner, order a pizza, and take her back to bed.

He’s almost certain she wouldn’t mind. 

“It’s about time I took you out for once.” His arm wraps around her waist, pulling her into him. She’s wearing the perfume she had on the first night they talked - he’d know it anywhere - and whenever he gets a whiff of her, it takes him back to the summer **.** He can’t think about it for too long. So much has happened and yet it feels like it was mere days ago. Instead, he draws her even closer and breathes her in. 

“This is actually the second time you’ve taken me out,” she says, nudging his side as they make their way down the crowded street. “Technically the diner was our first date.” 

Aaron scoffs. “That hardly counts as a date, if I remember correctly. Plus, that was  _ months  _ ago.” He remembers it with something that feels like nostalgia. It’d been early summer then, a stark difference between the slight chill that has started to lace the air at dusk. He secures his grip on her waist, pulling her closer, his hand resting at the small of her back. 

“Trust me, it counts.” Her eyes practically sparkle in the dim evening light. Aaron’s throat tightens; he’s certain she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Once they’re seated at their table, a bottle of wine between them, she looks around the restaurant with wide eyes.“This is like … the nicest restaurant in New Haven.” It’s a busy evening, bustling with the crowds of parents in town and a few wealthy Yale donors - her birthday happens to fall over the Homecoming game weekend, but neither of them could care less about football. “I’ve only been here once before.” 

“Order whatever you want,” he takes a sip of the wine she’d chosen for them based on his preferences. It’s a dry red  _ and  _ ridiculously expensive, but she seems to be enjoying it, he notices as she fills her second glass. He’s still working on the first, and trying not to make it blatantly obvious he’s  _ never _ been anywhere remotely this fancy. 

“Aaron,” she says, her voice low enough that he has to lean forward to even hear her. “How are you paying for all of this?” She knows enough to know this  _ has  _ to be a stretch. This is the type of place her mother would bring her to. With him, it’s different of course, but she can’t help but think he’s trying to be something he’s not.

“Trust me Emily,” he says, sounding completely confident. “It’s taken care of.” 

When they’re finished eating, he pays the bill without as much of a glance, and Emily wonders just how much overtime he worked to be able to pay for it.  _ Or will have to work _ . He shouldn’t have to do this, she thinks, her heart starting to sink into her feet. He shouldn’t  _ have _ to have to do all of this just to see her. He shouldn’t have to pretend, or clandestinely leave work for two days just to see her.  _ What if maybe ...just maybe … it’s not meant to be?  _ She can’t ignore the thought nagging in the back of her mind. The intensity makes her eyes water; her stomach starts to churn.

_ Don’t go there,  _ she tells herself _. Not tonight.  _

“Emily?” 

It takes a few moments for her to hear him. 

“Hmm?” She looks up to see Aaron reaching for the bag of leftovers on the table, watching her carefully. 

“You ready?” 

He holds out his hand.

…

Once they’re back in her apartment, they open the chocolate cake they’d had boxed up and share it between them on her couch with two forks. She’s scraping the last of the frosting off the plate when he gets up for a minute, and comes back with something in his hands.

_ She knows right away. _

“I got you something,” he says, handing her a small box. 

“You shouldn’t have,” she says, trying to ignore the uneasiness she feels, pushing herself to smile. “You’ve done so much already.” 

“I wanted to,” he tells her firmly, looping a piece of hair behind her ear. “I picked it out a long time ago.” 

She tugs at the ribbons, opens the box. Inside is a gold necklace, an arrow, pencil thin with the tips on either side delicate enough to snap right off. “An arrow?” She’s transfixed by the seemingly simple design, running her finger over it. 

“It reminded me of you,” he says, and she feels the weight of his stare. “My father told me once that an arrow symbolizes strength, and always moving forward.” His face darkens just enough to tell her all she needs to know, and she gets chills.

She swallows hard, and with shaking fingers, reaches for his hand. “I love it. Thank you. It’s  _ perfect.”  _ Emily presses her lips to his, pulling him down on top of her and locking her legs around his back. He’s more than happy to appease her, pulling her dress up to her hips with a groan. 

Aaron is kissing her now, long and slow and full, with adoration in his eyes. “Now where did we leave off?” 

...

Of the 60 hours he spends with her, they spend the majority of them in bed, except for a few trips for coffee and food, and a few walks to stretch their legs. And while he’s more than content, something is different about her. He can’t put a finger on it, because it’s  _ Emily _ , and as much as he knows (and  _ loves)  _ her, there are things he’ll never understand. 

The 60 hours she spends with him are the most peace she’s been since coming back to Yale. He’s exactly the same, yet  _ she  _ feels like things have changed, and every single one of them has to do with her. It’s what tells her it has to end. This in between, messy mix of phone calls and surprise visits in between their day to day life … it’s not what she signed up for, and certainly not what  _ he _ signed up for. Not that she’s even sure of what that is to begin with. 

_ It has to end _ , she thinks sadly as he dozes beside her Sunday afternoon. He’s stark naked, covered up to the waist with a sheet. He looks peaceful and at ease, with his mouth slightly open and his hair falling in his eyes **,** so calm it makes her heart ache. Yet she falls asleep beside him, and when she wakes up an hour later, she’s snuggled in his embrace, her head on his chest and his arms secured around her. 

_ It has to end _ , she thinks on Sunday evening as she sinks to her knees once again in front of him, his hands winding through her long, dark hair. He’s fucking the back of her throat erratically yet she doesn’t care, and even though soon enough he’s tapping at her shoulder in a warning, she only pulls him in more as he shudders, finishing right in her mouth. It’s only after he’s fallen asleep again several hours later she recognizes the weight of  _ all _ of this, and she cries herself to sleep beside him. 

_... _

The rain wakes them both early Monday morning before the dark sky even begins to fade into the dreary morning. Emily barely has her eyes open when his head is between her legs, his tongue pushing her higher than she’s felt all weekend. She’s tempted to shove him away but she doesn’t, letting herself relax into the mattress, draping a leg over his shoulder out of habit. 

_“Aaron,”_ Emily’s hands dig into his hair, pulling him closer to her, her back already starting to arch off the mattress. “ _Don’t stop.”_ She has to close her eyes, because the sight of his dark head between her legs, moving so carefully with such intention is enough to make her heart hurt. Just like she asked, he doesn’t stop, and her orgasm hits her so intensely her hips nearly thrash all the way off the bed. He’s waiting for it, anticipates it, and gently pins her hips down and watches her unravel. 

She’s still shaking when she pushes him down and straddles him quickly, sinking down onto him with a moan, her hair falling into his face as she leans down to kiss him and she can taste herself on his lips. “Hell of a way to wake up.” 

Aaron  _ loves  _ this view of her because he can see  _ all _ of her, but when she pulls away, something wet drips onto his chest, and, sure enough there are glistening tears reflecting in her eyes. “Emily,” he says immediately, sounding innately concerned, pushing her hair out of her face.

She ignores him and starts rocking back and forth; he has half the mind to just let her, but then another tear drips onto his chest. 

“Sweetheart,” he reaches for her, holds her by the shoulders to keep her still. “What is it?” He gives her a gentle shake, but she bites her lip and swipes the tears away with one hand, fighting the grip he keeps on her arms. “Please, talk to me.” 

“Nothing,” she says just a little too smoothly, desperately trying to move again. She  _ needs _ this, she needs him, almost as much as she needs to breathe, but he’s stronger, and with his hands braced around her shoulders, she’s not going to win this one. 

“Emily.” His voice is thick, laced with a mix of worry and the unmistakable lust she’s gotten to know so well.

“I don’t want you to go,” she lowers her gaze, her hair fanning over her shoulders as her head dips, a quick brush of her hand over her eyes is all he needs to know. “Please don’t go.”  _ If you go, this could be it. _

He easily flips them over so she’s on her back, his body a protective weight over her; her legs curl around his hips and bring him further inside. She flutters around him, her knees settle around his hips, arms looping around his neck. Aaron takes her hands in his over head and drives into her to completion. It takes her breath away, and another moment to recover. 

“Slow,” she whispers for the second time that weekend, pulling a hand away and cupping his cheek. “I don’t want it to end.” 

_ There’s a double meaning behind her words, but It might be the most honest she’s ever been with him.  _

But eventually it does, and when he untangles his legs from hers, leaving a soft kiss on her lips, her heart starts to pound. They shower; he makes coffee. She sips hers quietly from her place in bed as he gathers his things that have been scattered all over her room. 

“Just a few more weeks until Thanksgiving,” he says as he packs his bag, not sure if she’s even paying attention.  _ She’s been relatively quiet all morning _ , he thinks, watching her sip her coffee with  _ Madame Bovary _ in her lap, except she hasn’t turned a single page in almost ten minutes. 

“Mmhm,” she says demurely, swinging her legs over the side of the bed to search for something to throw on over her silky pajamas. 

“I could make you dinner,” he offers, looking hopeful. “If you’re not with your mom, that is.” 

“Holidays aren’t her priority, Aaron. She’ll probably be traveling, anway.” Yet she doesn’t accept his invitation, and he wishes he’d never brought it up at all. “We should get going soon. It’s at least a mile of a walk.” 

...

She walks him to the metro, holding a giant umbrella over both of them as they get closer and closer to her heart shattering once again. The rain hasn’t let up a bit - in fact, it’s gotten worse. The departure signs are clearly marked; it looms above her like a taunting reminder of what’s about to happen. She wraps her fingers around the umbrella handle, hoping he can’t see that they’ve turned white. 

“I’ll call you when I’m home,” he says softly but she can barely hear him because of the goddamn rain. “It’ll be after dinner by the time I’m back.” 

“I know.”  _ But what if I don’t answer?  _ “Whenever you get home is fine.” 

“I love you,” he tells her, kissing her on the lips and wrapping her into a hug. 

She hugs him back, breathing him in, his scent searing into her memory as her eyes burn. “I love you too, Aaron.” She rests against him for a few seconds, safe in his arms, before pulling away. “Have a safe trip home.” 

She turns just in time that he can’t see her tears.

_ What if this is the beginning of the end?  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 31 coming soon.


	31. Thirty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What happens now?” “I don’t know.” He’s wide awake beside her, as she suspected, and his hand instinctively finds hers. “You tell me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone - here is chapter 31. I'm having a hard time tearing these two apart, but things have to fall apart before they can come together, right? Let me know what you think - as always, enjoy! <3

**Chapter 31: Pieces**

_ We build it up, we tear it down. Leave our pieces on the ground. _

_ We see no end, we don’t know how. _

_ We are lost and we're falling _

_ Hold onto me, you’re all I have. _

“We can’t do this anymore, Aaron.” 

The words cut like a cold knife plunging into her chest, with an added twist for good measure. As they spill from her lips completely unchecked, she’s not sure she’s  _ actually _ saying them. 

Emily curls the phone cord so tightly around her hand it digs into her skin, leaving an angry red mark in its place, like a taunting reminder of what’s about to happen. Her eyes burn, and it’s not the dry, arid apartment air, as the chilling October wind whistles through the cracks in the open windows, even though that’s what she tells herself.  _ That’s what it has to be, right? _

“Can’t do what? What are you talking about?” Aaron asks, but he doesn’t have to, because he’s seen this coming - since the day he left her in the rain at the New Haven train station almost two weeks ago. He isn’t stupid - he’s known, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it. He can hear the trembling in her voice; he pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. The air in  _ his  _ apartment is suddenly thick and hot, oppressive and suffocating, and wishes he could  _ fucking _ drive to Yale and shake the sense into her. 

“Whatever it is we’re doing.” Emily pauses to take a breath, but she can’t, because it’s not just her eyes burning now, it’s her lungs too.  _ It has to be the apartment, _ she thinks, even though deep down she  _ knows _ that nothing but a lie she’s telling herself. “This isn’t supposed to be like this.”  _ It’s not supposed to be this overwhelming; she isn’t supposed to need him as much as she needs to breathe. This is what love does to people,  _ she thinks with disdain. She’s  _ never _ wanted this. This is  _ exactly _ what she’s tried to avoid for so long. 

“Isn’t supposed to be like what?” He’s sensed her hesitancy for days now; with every phone call it becomes more and more evident. Now that he’s finally called her out, he wishes he hadn’t, because she’s been talking in circles for the past fifteen minutes. “You’re not making any sense, Emily.” 

“None of this should have happened, Aaron.” She says, unbearably quiet. “You were supposed to be just like the rest of them.” She closes her eyes, remembering the day she first laid eyes on him all those months ago, back in May, when things were  _ different _ . Before he walked into her life. Before she knew she was actually capable of loving someone the way she loved him. 

“The rest of them?” 

“You know what I mean.” She chokes, wishing the ground would swallow her whole. 

“I actually don’t,” he spits, sounding angry this time. It makes her cringe. “The rest of who?” 

“I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you, Aaron. You weren’t supposed to fall in love with me, either,” she chokes, not even bothering to hide the tremor in her voice. “You don’t  _ want _ to love me.” A tear escapes from the corner of her eye, dripping onto her hand, then another. “It’s too complicated. Everything that’s happened. Everything that’s  _ going _ to happen.”

“Haven’t I shown you that  _ none _ of what’s happened in the past matters to me? You’re not making any sense, Emily. You can’t predict the  _ fucking _ future, either. You have no idea what could happen.” 

“Neither can you.” 

“Why are you saying this? Where is this coming from?” 

“This has gone too far,” she says with regret. “I’m here, you’re there. You have a career, or at least you’re  _ starting  _ one, and I have - ”

This time he cuts her off. “So that’s what this is all about? Distance? Distance means shit.” 

“It means more than you’d think.” 

“You've been different since you got back to school.” He stops for a moment; Emily can see the wheels turning in his mind. “Did something happen there, Emily?” 

“Aaron,” she begins, hating how  _ exhausted _ she sounds, because he can see right through it, even though he’s hundreds of miles away. 

He sounds concerned; Emily knows what he’s thinking. “You can tell me, you know.” 

She shakes her head even though he can’t see her. “No, Aaron. Nothing like that.” Then for good measure, she adds, “I promise.” 

“Then what is it, Emily? Please talk to me.” 

“Being away from you has given me time to think.” 

“Think about what?” 

“About how  _ fucked _ up all of this is.” 

“What’s  _ fucked up _ about the fact that I  _ love _ you?” 

His admittance is like another knife in her chest. “Everything that’s happened since we  _ met _ is fucked up. Hell, our relationship is centered around all of it.  _ Everything.  _ Everything with Tom, Matthew and Johnny. And everything else after that. I’m a  _ mess _ . And you’ve been cleaning it up for the last  _ five _ months.” 

“So that’s why you’re doing this? You think I just want to  _ fix _ you? Are you out of your mind? When have I ever given you that impression?” 

“I’m not debating this with you, Aaron. We can’t keep doing this.” She takes a breath, or attempts to. “In the end, you’ll thank me one day.”

There are a few minutes of painful, deafening silence - she can hear him  _ breathe _ . She doesn’t dare say a word. 

“Maybe you’re right.” He says finally, with a resignation she’s never heard before.  _ This is it _ . 

“You’ll thank me one day, Aaron,” she repeats, yet it doesn’t sound convincing. It takes everything she has not to scream. 

“You’re wrong.” He sounds so… so  _ worn out _ . But … this is what she wanted, isn’t it? 

_ There’s nothing he can say to change her mind _ . “Have a good night, Emily.” The coldness, the chill in his tone makes her want to scream, but nothing comes out.

“ _ Aaron _ ,” she whispers, but it’s too late, because the line has gone dead, leaving nothing but a dial tone in her ear. 

_ Maybe it was all a huge mistake. But now it doesn’t even matter. _

She expected to feel a weight lifted off of her shoulders. Instead, all she feels is grief. She’s felt it before, but it’s never felt this raw, and she’s almost certain she can hear her own heart break in her chest as she buries her face in her hands and sobs. She wants it all; yet all they can be is what they’ve always been - a secret, two completely different, separate lives. He has  _ goals _ \- career aspirations - yet she has  _ no _ idea where she’ll be in six months let alone a year or two. It’ll never be enough. 

No, it’ll never work. It can’t. It was never going to in the first place.

It’s what she tells herself as she struggles to sleep that night, and in the next several nights afterward. 

…

Pushing him out of her mind is one of the hardest things she’s ever done. She self-soothes with cigarettes (a habit she falls back into with relative ease **)** and too much alcohol. It seems like every other morning she wakes up with a splitting headache and a mouth that feels like sawdust, and with every passing day she doubles over the toilet bowl to vomit as the hangover sets in, he  _ still _ won’t leave her mind. 

The last week of October runs together, a stream of endless days, and as nights get colder and it gets dark sooner, she wishes she’d  _ never _ let herself fall for him in the first place. Everything hurts - her body, her mind - and it takes nearly  _ all _ of her effort just to get out of bed for class, only to settle on her couch every afternoon with the television running, and lay there until dinner, or until Allison rouses her up to go to  _ some _ party she doesn’t care about. There isn’t much she  _ does _ care about these days. 

The only solace is sleep, yet it hardly ever comes.

…

Thanksgiving looms ahead as November drags on, a series of cold days and even colder nights. As it turns out, her mother  _ isn’t _ on a trip, much to Emily’s chagrin. In fact, she all but demands her daughter’s appearance at dinner.  _ “It’ll be worth your while,”  _ Elizabeth says on the phone one night in mid November, and Emily is still sober enough to know that means some type of bribe is on the table. Just what, she isn’t sure, but she knows her mother well enough to know she isn’t bluffing. 

“I haven’t seen you since  _ August _ , Emily.” Elizabeth has been talking for the last few minutes - it’s as if she’s  _ forgotten _ how they ended things, when Emily had stormed out of her office moments after Aaron’s resignation three months ago. _ Has it been that long? _ “It might do you some good to come home for a few days. I can  _ only _ imagine what you’ve been getting yourself into there.” 

“That’s right, Mother. I’m just causing  _ all _ kinds of problems. Next I’ll be getting arrested,” Emily snaps, regretting agreeing to all of this in the first place. She has a headache already, most likely from the last ten minutes of being on the phone. It feels like longer than that. 

“Don’t even  _ joke _ about that, Emily. I certainly wouldn’t put it past you.” There’s weight behind her words, and Emily knows  _ exactly  _ what she’s referring to. The fact that Elizabeth doesn’t even try to hide her true feelings sends a wave of shame through her body. 

“What do you think I’m doing here, Mother?” Emily asks sarcastically.

“I wouldn’t know, considering I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve spoken to you since you left in August. Honestly, Emily, is it  _ that _ much trouble for you to come home every once in a while?” Her mother rambles on for a few minutes; Emily’s head starts to pound miserably. 

“Mother - Mom,” she cuts her off mid sentence. “Fine, I’ll come home. Whatever. Just tell me where I need to be and when,” Emily says impatiently, pacing back and forth in the small apartment hallway, glancing in the mirror at the makeup she hastily applied for the party she’s about to head out to. She’s wearing too much, even by her own standards, but how else will she hide the dark circles under her eyes? Or the fact she’s been crying for days? She sips the drink in her hand, wishing it would just get her  _ drunk _ already. She wants to forget about this conversation - and the last few weeks while she’s at it. 

“I’d like you home Tuesday evening before Thanksgiving at the latest. Once you’re here, we can begin to discuss your summer arrangements. I understand staying in New Haven appeals to you.”

_ There it is. There’s the bribe.  _

“Mother, the first semester hasn’t even ended,” she attempts, but it’s clear the conversation is over. Elizabeth suddenly sounds distant, and Emily soon realizes it’s because her mother has gotten her way. She has no reason to engage with her any longer. “I can arrange for a car to come pick you up.” 

“Don’t bother with the car. I can ride with Allison. She’s coming home too.” 

“If that suits you.” Her mother sniffs, and says something to someone in the background Emily can’t quite discern. “Get home safely. I will see you Tuesday evening.” 

“Good night, Mother.” Switching off the phone, she downs the rest of the drink in one long swig. It does its job quickly, just as she’d wished, and as her vision blurs and her mind goes fuzzy, a thought pops into her mind. One she can’t ignore. 

...

“That’s a bad idea,” Allison says from her place beside Emily in the backseat of the large SUV that inches down 95, closer and closer to 495 and their eventual destination of Washington. “And you know it.” They’ve been in the car since late that morning, heading home for Thanksgiving, each nursing a ridiculous hangover. It’d been a  _ late _ night; they’re both running on less than three hours of sleep. The sun is already starting to dip down behind the trees; the dusk just adds to her exhaustion.

Emily nearly missed the pickup altogether - she’d woken up to Allison ringing her doorbell at 10 AM, and only as she stumbled to the door did she remember why her friend was standing there, looking rough herself.  _ Fuck.  _ “You look awful,” Allison had muttered, her sunglasses hiding her eyes as Emily hurried around her apartment, gathering a pile of clothes, throwing them into a suitcase. “What the  _ fuck _ did you drink last night?” 

“Same thing you did.” Emily covers her mouth with her hand as Allison makes a quick dash to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. 

_ Who gets this drunk on a Monday night?  _ She wonders, ducking into her bedroom at the first sounds of Allison retching into the toilet. It gives her a few uninterrupted minutes to pack the rest of her suitcase, and even  _ that _ is an arduous task. If the last ten minutes are any indication of what’s coming, the next few hours are about to be  _ very  _ unpleasant. 

In the fourth hour of their endless trip, Emily makes the mistake of letting it slip to Allison what she intends to do once they’re back in DC.  _ If they even make it at this rate, given the thickening traffic that is mounting ahead of them as they get closer to Maryland. _ Even in her current, exhausted state, she can sense Allison’s disapproval the instant it escapes from her lips. 

“You don’t actually think going there is a good idea, do you? Come on, Emily, you’re smarter than that.”

Emily rolls her eyes, almost wishing it was vodka in the water bottle she lifts to her lips.  _ Maybe that would take the edge off, stop her hands from trembling _ . “I didn’t say I was going to sleep with him, Allison.” 

“No, but you know that’s what’s going to happen if you go to his apartment.” Crossing her arms over her chest, Allison lowers her voice, so her family driver can’t hear what she’s saying.

_ Not that it even matters, _ Emily thinks with a half smile. Allison’s driver has been privy to their entire conversation already, and  _ many _ others over the years. There isn’t much he doesn’t know. 

“We both know you’re not over him, but why do you even want to see him, anyway? You were the one who broke it off in the first place. Isn’t that like … adding fuel to a burning fire?” Allison tugs at the seatbelt around her shoulder, shifting to a more comfortable position. 

“Give him an explanation,” Emily mutters.  _ Not that he asked for one in the first place, but does it even matter?  _ “Or something like that.” 

“You’re going to regret that,” Allison snaps, suddenly looking annoyed. “I don’t know why you have to  _ fuck  _ with him like that. Shane says he’s been a mess since you ended things.” 

Emily scoffs. “So you’re talking about me with your  _ boyfriend?” _ She’s  _ not _ in the mood to hear about Shane. Not now.

“It’s come up from time to time. He’s still friends with him, you know. It sounds like they’ve been talking a lot.” 

“Of course they are. So what’s Shane telling you?” 

Allison gives her a long, disappointed look. “That’s not my business to share, Emily. I was  _ hoping - we _ were hoping,” she says, a sadness creeping into her voice that wasn’t there before. “I was hoping you two would be able to figure things out. But clearly that’s not the case. I’m not going to be some go between for you. Either be with him or not, but keep me out of it.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” 

Allison tips her sunglasses to reveal her bloodshot, dark-ringed eyes. “Em, I love you. You’re my best friend. I know you’ve been through a lot, especially in the last few months. But this … this I don’t understand. And I don’t think I ever will.” 

“Good thing you don’t have to, I guess.” Emily angles herself away from her friend, twisting her body so she’s staring out the window, tugging her baggy sweater over her knees. Resting her head against the cool window, she closes her eyes, attempting to get some much needed rest. It’s in vain, but she stays like that for the remainder of their trip, wishing she could just have some  _ fucking _ relief for a few minutes. As the car crawls through the mounting DMV traffic and the buildings rise taller, pushed closer together, Emily feels the mounting dread rising in the pit of her stomach.

…

“What are you doing here?” 

He looks like  _ shit _ when he opens the door. So much so, she gasps, her hand going to her mouth to hide her surprise. “You look like shit.” It comes out before she even realizes what she’s saying. He’s  _ still _ in his suit - but it’s uncharacteristically wrinkled, the cuffs of his sleeves rolled up. His jacket is nowhere to be seen; there are dark circles under his eyes and his complexion is an ashy grey. 

“You do too,” he retorts bitterly, looking her up and down. She’s still wearing the same oversized sweater from before, the same leggings, her hair in a messy bun on her head. Definitely not one of her better outfits, but she could care less. “Why are you here?” He sounds  _ annoyed _ , too. She can’t say she blames him. 

“Is now a bad time?” It’s when he glances over his shoulder, behind him, a thought crosses her mind - one that makes her nauseous almost instantly. “Is someone else here?” 

“What? No … of course not. Why would you think that?” Aaron takes a step forward, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration. “What are you doing here?” He repeats, crossing his arms over his chest. “You should have called before -”

“I … I wanted to see you.”

“For what reason?” he asks curtly, his tone biting and harsh. “You made it clear a few weeks ago things weren’t going to work out.” 

She says nothing, just stares at him. She doesn’t even have a good answer to his question. 

“How did you get here?” He tries again, because the street is practically empty - not a car in sight, and the temperatures have dropped significantly since the sun went down. It’s only then she realizes how  _ tired _ he sounds. 

“I walked.” She shoves her hands in her jacket pockets indignantly. 

“You walked?” He sounds an equal mix of incredulous and annoyed, yet not at all surprised.

“It’s not  _ that _ far.”  _ Just about three miles. In all honesty, she wanted - needed - the quiet. _

“You walked three miles from your mother’s house in the dark? By yourself?” 

“I needed time to think.” She kicks the ground with her shoe, unable to look him in the eye. “Can we talk?” She wishes she didn’t sound so  _ desperate.  _ “Please?”

“I’ve had a long day, Emily. A long week, actually, and I’m working a double tomorrow.” He runs a hand through his hair, and it’s as if he ages five years right before her eyes. “I’m seeing my brother on Thursday… for the holiday.” He sounds strained at the mention of his brother. She’s tempted to ask about Sean, but  _ that _ might only lead to more tension. 

“Please, Aaron?”

He scowls, yet his face simultaneously softens the slightest bit; some of the fine lines around his mouth deepen. “Fine.” He pushes the door open just enough for her to come in, and she follows him into the tiny apartment. 

She contemplates taking off her coat; she almost tosses it and her wallet down on the chair out of habit. But, she reminds herself, things aren’t the same.  _ Thanks to her _ . 

“You want something to drink?” He kicks a basket of laundry out of her line of sight, tossing a pair of shoes down the hallway towards his room. “Water? Coffee?”

“Just water,” she says timidly, glancing around his apartment. It’s exactly the same - still neat as a pin, nothing out of place. It’s as if she’d never left. “You still have the coffee machine?” She can’t help but smile. 

He lifts an eyebrow and when his face softens, she has to look away from him. “It comes in handy when I work doubles,” he says, with something familiar in his voice that makes her chest hurt. He fills a glass, bringing it to where she’s perched on the edge of his well-worn couch. Why are you really here, Emily?” 

“To talk.” She doesn’t sound convincing, and as she takes in the familiarity of his apartment, she starts to question if she made the right choice in coming here. 

“We have nothing to talk about, Emily. You made that abundantly clear a few weeks ago.” 

“I know.” She taps her foot nervously on the ground, staring at the glass in her hands. Part of her didn’t expect to even get  _ this _ far. “I don’t … I don’t know what to say.” 

“What do you want, Emily? Because I’m not sure I understand any of this.” As if to prove his point, he holds out his arms in frustration. 

She stares at him, trying to gather her racing thoughts. Her heart is pounding; a bead of sweat drips between her shoulder blades.

“I don’t know what I want, Aaron.” She says quietly, fingers clenched around the glass so tightly she’s afraid it might shatter. “I wish I did.”

He shakes his head, and even from across the room she can see the mounting tension in his jaw. “Then what the  _ hell _ are you asking from me, Emily? All I’ve ever done is  _ try _ my goddamn hardest to keep you safe, to make you happy. And even  _ that _ isn’t enough.” 

“I never said it wasn’t enough.” She knows she’s talking in circles at this point. “But that’s just the thing. Can you be happy like this? In this … limbo of back and forth and figuring out what the _ fuck  _ we’re going to do while I’m away and you’re here and -?” 

“I  _ was _ happy. With you,” He says suddenly, and when he turns back to her, she’s perched on his couch, her legs crossed and twisted around each other, arms wrapped around herself. It’s as if she wants to disappear right in front of him. “Yeah, we have some things to figure out. Distance is one of them. But it doesn’t have to be like  _ this.”  _ He’s watching her intensely now, not even daring to take his eyes off of her. “We don’t have to just  _ end _ things, Emily.” 

“I’m scared, Aaron.” Her voice is barely audible, even less so when she murmurs, “Everything is changing, and it  _ scares _ me.” 

In that moment, he realizes, she’s never actually  _ admitted _ it before. 

He’s across the room in a few steps, pulling her to her feet as if she weighs nothing, before she can stop him. Yet she doesn’t  _ want _ to stop him at all when his mouth seals over hers and his hands slide into her hair. Aaron catches her off guard, pushing her coat off her shoulders and onto the floor at their feet. He’s quick- his left hand is pulling at the hem of her sweater, tugging it up and over her head before undoing the clasp of her bra with his right. 

“Aaron,” she breathes, his scent so familiar and  _ comforting _ , his arms securing her against him as he settles her back onto the couch and against the pillows, bringing his body up and over hers. 

“I fucking love you,” he growls when his hand dips below the waistband of her leggings and between her legs, his fingers slipping inside of her, eliciting a whimper from her. The cracks in her heart grow wider as she moans despite her best intentions, which only encourages him. But instead of pushing him away, she digs her nails into his back and acquiesces to him, draping her leg over the back of the couch. “Don’t you fucking get it?” He sounds  _ desperate _ , and between the brush of his lips and the press of his fingers, she can’t help but close her eyes.

“I know,” she gasps, and even  _ that _ takes more effort than it should. “I get it.” Even though he’s barely touched her, she’s already impossibly close, and he knows it.

“I love you,” he whispers this time, winding his arm around her back. 

“I know.” She kisses him, full of tongue, whether it’s in agreement or to silence him she isn’t sure. "I love you too."

It’s quick and fast, a  _ relief _ for them both when he pushes into her swiftly; it takes her breath away when he’s fully seated and he starts to move. It’s as if they never stopped at all, and it only takes a minute before they take each other over the edge; the only sounds are their hushed voices and whispers in the dimmed light of his living room.

_ They’re right back to where they started _ . 

…

“What happens now?” She whispers into the dark over an hour later. They’re in his bed, legs tangled together, her head on his shoulder, his hand on her thigh. What was once her safe place feels so foreign, and even with the blanket around her she feels cold. If she didn’t know any better, she would assume he’s sleeping, because the only sound he’s made are a few deep breaths every now and then. 

“I don’t know.” He’s wide awake beside her, as she suspected, and his hand instinctively finds hers. “You tell me.” 

She  _ still _ doesn’t have an answer. “I shouldn’t have come,” she says, sitting up to reach blindly for her clothes, but they’re nowhere to be found, because they’re still all over his living room. Emily pulls at the blanket around them instead, except his hands are gripping her shoulders, pulling her back down to his mattress. 

“Emily, Emily,” Aaron croons, holding her against his chest, ignoring the fact that she’s fighting him. “Don’t say that.” His voice is cracking just like hers. “I can’t just let you leave. Not now.” 

“I need to go, Aaron. I shouldn’t stay here. I  _ can’t _ stay here.” She tries to twist out of his arms, with little success, and she eventually gives up because she  _ knows _ herself better than that. 

“Please,” he says, hoarse, his voice thick. “Please don’t leave.” He’s holding her close, whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

Her throat tightens; she can’t see his face but she doesn’t have to, and she brushes a tear away from her eye, giving in yet once more. 

She doesn’t leave; she sleeps beside him like she’s done so many times before, despite the voice in her head telling her what she’s known since she showed up on his doorstep.

_ It’ll never be the same _ . 

...

“I slept with Aaron on Tuesday night,” Emily confesses, even though she doesn’t have to, on their way back to New Haven late Saturday afternoon.  _ He started it, though, _ she debates adding, but it won’t make a difference. The sunlight pours through the windows of the SUV, nearly blinding her, and she wonders  _ why _ it’s such a beautiful day when she feels like utter shit. 

_ And she’s not even hungover.  _

They’ve been sitting in silence since leaving DC almost an hour ago, and from her place beside her, Allison rolls her eyes, glancing up from her magazine. “I’m not surprised.” When Emily says nothing else, she prods, Is that all you’re going to say?” 

“Is there anything else  _ to  _ say, Allison?” 

Allison sighs loudly. “I  _ told _ you not to, you know. Let it be known I was against this from the beginning.” She tosses the magazine onto the floor with a huff of frustration. 

“I know.” It’s not an apology and yet it sounds like one, because she can sense Allison’s disapproving stare even though she can barely make eye contact. 

“So what now? What are you going to do?” 

“It was a mistake. It’s not happening again.” She inches closer to her friend,  _ desperately _ in need of some comfort, and Allison sighs again as Emily rests her head against her friend’s shoulder. 

Neither of them are surprised when she starts to cry moments later. 

…

_ It happens again _ . History repeats itself when she’s home for winter break in December. She finds herself at his apartment  _ once more _ \- she hasn’t even been home an entire twenty-four hours before she concedes, and while he doesn’t look the slightest bit surprised, he lets her in without a second thought. 

It’s slower than the last time but no less intense - Aaron pushes her right up against the door once it shuts behind her, and pulls her skirt up around her waist before he takes off both of her knee-length boots, depositing them on the floor. He takes his time when he goes down on her until she’s writhing against him, her hips canting in his face relentlessly until he  _ finally _ hits the spot and she screams, simply because she can’t help herself. 

His eyes darken when he’s  _ finally _ inside of her again; her body instinctively responds to his every touch. Her legs wrap around his back, she all but gives in because it’s not even worth trying to deny the fact that she’s missed him just as much as he’s clearly missed her. He lets her have her way once they’re back in his bed, and she straddles his lap and sinks down onto him, her hips rocking back and forth with an aching precision. The  _ only _ reason she doesn’t scream again when she finally comes is because his mouth is locked against hers. 

It’s painfully familiar and yet so distant when he finally slips out of her, settling beside her with a lingering kiss. “Stay,” he whispers into the dark this time. She’s snuggled against him even though she knows it’ll make her inevitable exit that much harder. 

“What are we doing, Aaron?” She asks, not for the first time, with a shade of sadness that wasn’t there in November. 

“You tell me, sweetheart,” he says tenderly, despite the fact he wants nothing more than to keep her there forever. “You tell me.” 

Her chest burns; this nearly destroys her every time it happens. And yet, she can’t seem to stop. “I love you too much to say goodbye,” she says into his neck, wishing she could just get the  _ fuck _ up and walk out of there. “I can’t.” 

“You don’t have to, you know,” he soothes her with a kiss before he pushes her back into the mattress and lifting her leg around his hip. But when he’s finally inside of her yet one more time, he wonders if she’ll keep her word. 

… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 32 coming soon!


	32. Thirty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In between everything that’s said, and more importantly, what’s not said, things slowly start to fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We are jumping ahead a little bit, and this chapter will take place over the span of several months as things start to get complicated (even more so I guess) for these two. 
> 
> Putting it here - this is an emotionally heavy chapter, and SPOILER ALERT - TW applies to pregnancy loss/miscarriage, just as a warning.
> 
> Thank you for still being here … I say this every time I update but I really can’t believe this story has gotten to where it is. I’ve never committed to any kind of writing for this long, and while we still have a little ways to go yet, I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself when it’s done. As always, enjoy <3, and let me know what you think! I love reading your thoughts and comments and reactions every chapter - it truly makes my day 

**Chapter 32: Devil In Me**

_ I don't ever care that there is no charity in your heart. _

_ Couldn't you spare me, I've done my part? _

_ So don't break my heart, I ain't never done nothing to deserve this _

_ I’m torn apart, you’ve had your fun. Do you suppose I earned it? _

_ Do you not see how I’m begging on my knees? Don’t speak, don’t breathe. _

_ You bring out the devil in me. _

As it turns out, she keeps her word. As the frigid weeks of January and February morph into the blustery days of March, it’s  _ almost _ exactly the same as it’s always been. He visits New Haven when he can, sometimes she makes a quick trip home every couple of weeks. It’s a few days here and there they spend in each other’s beds, the hushed conversations between them to take up the sleepless nights as they both wonder just  _ what the fuck _ they’re doing. And in between everything that’s said, and more importantly, what’s  _ not _ said, things slowly start to fall apart. 

She loves him, that much she knows, but the fear of  _ actually _ letting things be more than what they are outweighs any faith she has that things may just work out. And of course, he loves her just as fiercely, but as the months slip past, he can’t help but start to  _ question  _ it all too, and when the days become warmer, his own shadows of doubt begin to appear. It’s unnerving, and with each passing day, the distance between them grows. She knows it; he knows it too.

In mid April, he gets the news he’s been waiting on for months. 

“I got some good news this morning,” he says on the phone one afternoon, actually sounding excited for once, and he doesn’t have to explain because she knows what’s coming. She’s been waiting for this. Over the last few months he’s become increasingly disillusioned with his security position, in need of a change, and this can only mean one thing. 

“Tell me.” Except she doesn’t really need him to say it. 

“I was offered a special agent position with the FBI. I passed the background investigation. It’s almost official.” There’s no hiding the pride in his voice; if she closes her eyes she can see the small smile curling on his lips. “It’s a conditional offer. I need to pass the basic field training course, but if I do, it’s a done deal.” 

“That’s great news!” Emily forces herself to smile too, even though he can’t see her face. She wants so badly to be happy for him and she  _ is _ , but at this point, it’s one more thing deepening the fissure that’s been growing between them since November. 

“They’re relocating me to Philadelphia for the training in a few weeks,” he says, and the heaviness in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed, as if he doesn’t want to tell the full story. 

“So what does that mean?” 

He pauses for a brief moment; in her mind she can see him close his eyes. “It means I’ll be gone throughout the summer.” 

Emily closes her eyes; rests her head against the wall. “So you won’t be coming here to New Haven, then.” They  _ have _ talked about it, but not in a while. In fact, it hasn’t come up in several weeks. Just another thing she’s left hanging … the fear of actually committing to something undoubtedly terrifying. 

“I know, and I’m sorry,” he begins, except he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “But I can’t turn this offer down.”

She says nothing, and he continues. 

“You know this is important to me, Emily. I’ve been waiting on this offer for months. You can’t at least be happy?” 

“I  _ am _ happy,” she says, hoping it sounds convincing. “I’m so proud of you, Aaron. I  _ know _ this is important to you. I know how long you’ve been waiting for this.” 

“But?” 

She considers not saying it, but does anyway. “But everything’s going to change.” 

_ Everything already has changed,  _ he thinks. “We’ll find a way,” he tells her like he’s been for months now, except this time, he’s not even sure if  _ he _ believes it. 

…

She can’t hide her apprehension when he unlocks the door to his new apartment in Philadelphia over her spring break in late April, letting her cross the threshold in front of him. She sets down the heavy box in her arms with a groan. Maybe it was the long car ride, but she feels absolutely awful. 

“It’s  _ small _ ,” she says, looking around with mild interest, but it’s evident she’s really not that interested at all. If they’re being completely honest, there are  _ other  _ places she’d rather be. “It’s smaller than your old place.” Emily leans against one of the stark white walls in the living room, fighting a growing headache and the smallest pang of nausea that’s been building all day. 

_ Too many hours in the car, _ she tells herself.  _ It has to be that.  _

“It’s all I could afford for right now,” he says, pulling open the doors to a hallway closet. “It’s not  _ that _ bad, right?” 

“It’s definitely not  _ bad,”  _ Emily reasons, taking a sip of water. In addition to the headache, she’s been so exhausted all week, and pesky nausea has come and gone. Aaron had suggested finding a place for dinner and walking around, but she’s almost positive that won’t happen if she can’t shake the fatigue at this point. 

“I am happy for you,” she says, and it sounds forced. At this point, he can read right through her. 

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, Emily,” he says. “In addition to everything else,” he grumbles under his breath. “I can’t always keep waiting for  _ everything  _ and  _ everyone _ . _ ”  _

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“What it means is -” He’s interrupted by a knock at the door, a short blonde woman peering through the door frame. The conversation ends as quickly as it started as they both turn their heads.

“Hey! I just thought I’d introduce myself. I’m Haley - I live across the hall. Just moved in too … a few weeks ago.” She smiles, a wide, happy smile, genuine without any reservations, and Emily wonders if this  _ Haley _ person has ever had a bad day in her life.

“I’m Aaron.” He extends his hand and she takes it. From her position against the wall, Emily narrows her eyes as Aaron smiles back. She can’t ignore the subtle pang of jealousy that rises in her throat when he moves even closer to the door. “You from around here?” 

Haley laughs. “Here? Oh, God no. I moved here for work. I’m from Virginia.” 

“Small world,” Aaron whistles, and Emily wonders if he even remembers she’s still in the room. “I’m from Virginia, too. Manassas.” 

“You’re kidding! I am too!” She sounds so  _ fucking cheerful _ . 

“You’re not serious,” he responds, until he sees the grin that spreads across Haley’s face. “You are serious.” 

“Completely.” She smoothes her hair behind her ear. “Well hey - if you’re not busy later, maybe we could - “ 

Emily coughs loudly, a reminder to them both that she’s still there, and whoever this Haley person is suddenly is  _ very _ aware of her presence. “Oh, hi! I’m Haley.” She extends her hand, her eyes sparkling. 

Emily wishes she didn’t feel - and undoubtedly look - so exhausted. She’s been  _ so _ tired lately. “Emily.” 

“Nice to meet you both. If you need anything, I’m just down the hall. Takeout menus, extra boxes. Another set of hands. Just let me know. I’m more than happy to help.” 

_ I’m sure you are.  _ Emily busies herself with unpacking one of Aaron’s many boxes, busying herself with peeling yet another piece of tape from a box. 

Haley is gone as quickly as she appears, and Emily doesn’t miss Aaron’s eyes still lingering on the door.

…

“What did you mean earlier?” Emily asks a few hours later, after they’ve worn themselves out, having christened the kitchen, the living room, and his new bedroom. He’s on his back, his hand resting on her thigh, the other thrown above his head, his fingers linked in hers. She’s resting against his side, the sheet pulled up over her chest. “Before whats-her-name showed up?” 

“Haley?” Aaron asks casually, and Emily narrows her eyes. 

“Yes. What did you mean by what you said?” 

“What did I say, Emily?” There’s a hint of frustration in his voice, as if he’d rather discuss  _ anything _ else but this. But he squeezes her hand anyway, brushing his lips over her cheek, and Emily snuggles against him.

“That you can’t keep waiting for everything.” 

Aaron sighs heavily. “We’ve been over this before, Emily. You know that.” 

_ He’s right. They have. _

“I am happy for you, Aaron. I want you to know that.” 

“I know,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against her temple. As they lay there in silence, Emily wonders if she’d ever be able to go on without him. 

...

Six weeks pass in the blink of an eye, and before she knows, it’s June. The semester ends quietly and in the end, she decides  _ not _ to spend the summer in New Haven. She’d managed to convince her mother to let her rent an apartment in Adams Morgan for the summer, and Elizabeth reluctantly agreed,  _ only _ because she made the Dean’s List. What her mother  _ doesn’t _ know is Adams Morgan is also home to one of the liveliest bar scenes in all of DC - there will certainly be plenty of things to do to keep her occupied for three months. 

Aaron  _ isn’t _ there to help her move in - he’s in a four day training that takes up nearly  _ all  _ of his free time - and after all the heavy things are moved, she attempts the arduous task of unpacking an insane amount of boxes and bags that have taken up the entire living room. In the midst of shoving an armload of clothes into the closet, she’s suddenly  _ so  _ dizzy she nearly faints, and the pile of dresses on the floor is the only thing that breaks her fall. 

_ What the fuck?  _ She thinks when the room finally stops spinning, coming to in the midst of a heap of expensive fabric.  _ Probably because I haven’t eaten today,  _ she thinks, pushing it out of her mind.  _ This didn’t happen the last time. Stop worrying _ , is what she tells herself. 

...

One night, a few weeks later, she tosses and turns for hours, unable to get comfortable. After a few hours she finally gives up, resigning herself to the fact that sleep just _isn’t_ in the cards tonight. A quick glance of the clock tells her it’s _impossibly_ early, still technically the middle of the night, actually. Calling Aaron is out of the question - he’s definitely still sleeping, and earlier when they’d talked, he’d seemed distant, maybe just the tiniest bit annoyed. Emily had been the one to end the call, chalking his brusqueness up to the demands of his current schedule. But … something tells her it isn’t just that.

She can’t shake the unease that invades her mind; it’s what’s prevented her from sleeping not just tonight, but the night before, too. Making a mental note to get some Ambien at the store later on that day, Emily pads into the kitchen, reaching for the coffee pot and grounds without even turning on the light. It’s a routine she’s done many times. She could do it in her sleep. 

_ The coffee will help. It always helps _ , she assures herself as she rises on tiptoe, reaching for a mug in one of the cabinets. When she does, a wave of dizziness courses through her so unexpectedly she gasps, taking a few deep breaths, the mug clenched in her fingertips. A few beads of sweat start to form on her hairline. 

_ What if ... _

The coffee finishes brewing, and immediately pushes  _ that _ thought out of her mind, because  _ there’s no way _ .  _ Absolutely not _ . She’s still dizzy, nauseous too now, and as she lifts the full mug to her lips, she’s so repulsed by the smell that permeates her nostrils she dumps the liquid down the sink. Gagging and coughing, the mug slips from her fingers and crashes to the ground, shattering into pieces. 

This didn’t happen before, and while it can mean a number of things, there’s only one that makes the most logical sense. Only one that she can comprehend. 

_ No. Oh no.  _

Sinking down onto the floor, Emily curls her knees to her chest and rocks back and forth. The motion only makes her more dizzy, and as she reaches for the trash can to vomit, she wonders just how she could have ever been so  _ stupid _ . 

…

She buys a test later that day, and then a second,  _ just in case _ . The drugstore is only four blocks from her apartment yet it seems like four miles, and she grips her keys in her hand the entire way there. Pretending not to notice the questioning stare of the cashier behind the counter, she gathers the plastic bag, stuffing it into her purse, her hands shaking. Once she’s out in the warm late spring air, she takes a deep breath and then another. Every step she takes back to her apartment takes more effort than the last. 

Her heart starts to race when she sees the double lines clear as day on the tiny screen in her sweating hands. She contemplates the second test, but it isn’t worth it, because she already has her answer.  _ How did this happen?  _ She knows the answer - the truth is, they  _ haven’t _ been as careful lately, and she’d missed a few birth control pills here and there. The familiar fear she’d felt years ago in Italy years ago comes back, all consuming.

Before she can talk herself out of it, she dials his number, fingers trembling with the push of each button on the phone, and when he picks up, her heart pounds and she chokes on air. 

“Hello?” 

He sounds like he’s  _ laughing _ . It’s clear he’s not alone. 

“Hello?” He says again, slightly more impatient this time, and she  _ knows _ her mind isn’t fooling her when she hears the sound of laughter again, this time in the background. It’s a female, she knows that much, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out  _ who  _ is laughing. It feels like being punched in the gut; she can’t breathe. 

“ _ Hello _ ?” Now he sounds exasperated, and in the background, the female’s voice says something Emily can’t quite decipher. Slamming the phone down, she takes a few deep breaths, wishing it didn’t feel like broken glass shards into her lungs with each inhale.

_ What the fuck?  _

She’s never felt more alone than she does now. 

…

“Are you going to eat that?” Allison asks, her eyes locked on Emily’s pesto and mozzarella sandwich with interest. If she didn’t feel so  _ fucking nauseous _ , Emily would have laughed. In all the years they’ve been friends, Allison’s favorite food has always been whatever someone else was eating. Most often, that someone was her. It’s practically an unwritten rule of their friendship at this point.

“All yours.” Emily pushes the plate towards her friend, pressing her fingers to her lips in an attempt not to gag. “I’m not hungry for some reason today.” With a shaking hand, she reaches for her water, nearly knocking the glass all over the table. If she’s trying to appear normal, she’s doing a terrible job. “I’m so tired.” 

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” Allison says casually, as if commenting on the weather or something equally as mundane. Her eyes are locked on Emily, her hand frozen mid-air as she reaches for Emily’s plate. 

Emily’s mouth falls open, and she silently curses Allison in her mind for knowing her as well as she does. She’s speechless for once, yet she can feel the blood drain from her face. “How did you know?” She asks weakly, passing the plate over. 

“You turned me down for coffee the other day, which has  _ never _ happened in all the years I’ve known you. You’ve been exhausted for the last few weeks. Now you’re  _ not _ eating your  _ favorite _ sandwich from your  _ favorite restaurant _ and you look like absolute death warmed over.” As if to prove her point, Allison ticks off each of her thoughts on her fingers, waving her perfectly manicured hand around. “Were you even going to  _ tell _ me? Or is that something else you managed to conveniently forget?” 

“Of course I was going to tell you,” Emily says slowly, yet not the least bit convincing. “I just found out a few days ago.” 

“A few days ago?” 

“I found out on Tuesday. Today is Thursday.” 

“How far along are you?” 

Biting her lip, Emily taps her foot against the floor nervously, trying to remember just how long it’s been. “Umm … I don’t know exactly. 8 weeks? Maybe ten?” She guesses, but the mental gymnastics are only adding to the fact that her head won’t stop spinning. “I made a doctor’s appointment for next week. I’ll find out for sure then.” 

“ _ Ten _ weeks?!” Allison gasps. “You mean you didn’t get your period for almost  _ three  _ months and you thought  _ nothing _ of it?” 

Emily glances around the restaurant anxiously, yet no one seems to be paying any attention to their conversation. “I wasn’t exactly keeping track, Al. Plus … I’ve never really been regular. I didn’t think anything of it until the other day.” It’s the truth, yet she feels incredibly irresponsible. She of all people should know better, of course. It’s another harsh reminder of what happened in Italy. She’d be lying if she said she  _ hadn’t _ thought of that option, yet this time, she can’t bring herself to do it.  _ Not when it’s his.  _ Emily presses a hand to her stomach - there isn’t much to feel yet. If anything, her pants feel a  _ little _ bit tighter, but all she feels is a small bump that can be easily hidden under her clothes.

Allison nods, opening her mouth again to talk but quickly stopping. 

“What, Allison? Just say it.” 

“Have you told Aaron yet?” 

Emily’s stomach clenches at the mention of his name. “No.” She stares at her knees, unable to look at Allison.  _ Not like this.  _ “I haven’t gotten around to telling him,” she mutters. 

“What do you mean you haven’t told him?” 

“He’s been … busy. With work. I don’t want to stress him out.”

“Don’t you think you should?” 

“Probably.” She plucks at the straw in her cup, feeling the need to do something with her hands. “He’s coming this weekend,” she adds quickly, partly to get Allison off her back and partly because deep down, she knows it’s the right thing to do. “I want to tell him in person.” 

“I think that’s a good idea.” 

…

When Saturday rolls around, she’s a nervous mess. She doesn’t know what to say to him, and he seems to be in a mood from the moment he arrives at her door. He barely even kisses her when he comes in. 

After giving him the perfunctory tour of her new apartment, she reaches for him, grabbing him by the collar to bring him close. Sealing her mouth over his, Emily winds an arm around his neck and presses her body flush against his. 

He kisses her back, his hands nestled in her hair, yet it feels different. It’s  _ almost _ as if he doesn’t want to be doing this at all. She’s about to pull away first, but he beats her to it.

“Emily - Em,” he takes a few precautionary steps backward, guilt written all over his face. It  _ scares _ the living hell out of her, to the point where she takes a few steps back too. He glances around, running a hand through his hair, setting his mouth in a thin line. 

“What’s going on?” She muses, a sense of dread building.  _ Something isn’t right.  _

“I … I think I’m seeing someone,” he says almost immediately, and the air is suddenly so thick it  _ hurts  _ to breathe. He looks  _ guilty _ \- she can see that clear as day all over his face, yet she has the sinking feeling his guilt is because he’s here with her in the first place. 

_ The phone call. I should have known. _

“You think?” She spits, putting a few more inches of space between them. Her ears are ringing; her brain is spinning, yet it’s nothing compared to the pain that’s growing in her chest, spreading through her ribs and her lungs and it still hurts to breathe. 

“I - I am,” he trails off, not even looking at her. “Her name is Haley.” 

_ Haley _ . The name rolls off her tongue, like a poem in two syllables.  _ Haley _ . It suddenly all clicks -  _ Haley _ . The woman from his apartment building. Across the hall. She remembers - how could she have forgotten? She doesn’t have to ask to know Haley is  _ everything _ she isn’t. 

_ She can’t tell him now.  _ “Then why the  _ fuck  _ did you come here? You came all this way just to tell me  _ that? _ ” 

“I’m here picking up Sean to take him back to New York. You called when I was on my way here the other day.” 

“Why are you doing this? How long has this been going on?” 

“A few weeks,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Emily, I’ve waited for you. I’ve  _ been _ waiting for you to be ready for months. You’ve made it clear you’re not going to take that step. I  _ wanted  _ to be with you. You couldn’t figure it out, or let me in enough to  _ show you _ that it wasn’t going to fall apart.” 

“You said we’d find a way,” she says, her voice starting to crack. Her hand absently goes to her stomach, feeling the slight swelling that comes out about this time of day, yet he doesn’t even seem to notice. “You told me we would find a way.” 

“Emily,” Aaron begins again

“Why did you come then? If  _ this  _ was your plan all along.” 

“You deserve the truth,” he says simply, bowing his head, and part of her wishes he had just lied to her. “This has to end,” he adds, and when she looks up, his back is already towards her, his jacket already back on. “I can’t see you anymore. I’m happy with Haley. Happier than I’ve been in a while.” 

“Aaron,” she pleads, leaping off the counter to reach for him, but he’s just far enough out of her grasp.

“I tried to make this work, Emily. I really did. I told you back in December I wanted to be  _ with  _ you, and I fought like hell to make it work. I can’t keep doing this with you. This back and forth. The doubt. The refusal to commit. It’s just not going to work.” 

If she didn’t hear him so clearly, she would think it’s all a bad dream, a horrible nightmare. But it’s not - she can hear  _ every _ word so clearly, they may be etched in her mind forever.

“Aaron, wait.” 

But it’s too late.

The door shuts behind him with a resounding slam. Cupping her hand around her swollen belly, she sinks to the floor on her knees in a fit of deep sobs. 

… 

Unlike her last pregnancy, this one ends on its own, without any warning, on a stormy July day just a few weeks later. 

She doesn’t even realize what’s happening until it’s too late. It starts with an ache in her lower back that soon spreads into her abdomen, radiating to her inner thighs.  _ It’s nothing _ , she tells herself nervously, until it’s clear it’s anything  _ but _ nothing when she’s doubled over in pain. 

The bleeding comes soon after, coupled with the cramps that roll through her like wildfire, a burning pain she’s never felt before. It’s so strong it nearly takes her to her knees, and she grabs the bathroom counter to stay upright, an anguished cry coming from her throat. It’s a pain that’s all consuming, sending a chill through her body. 

_ Something is wrong _ . She’s no expert on pregnancy, but she knows it’s not supposed to feel like this, and she certainly shouldn’t be bleeding this much. Her hands are trembling when she reaches for the phone, dialing the one person who she  _ knows _ will answer. 

...

Allison comes immediately, bursting through Emily’s apartment doors, to find her in the bathroom, a towel pressed between her legs and another on the floor close by, stained with blood. 

“Oh my God, what the fuck is going on?” 

“Something’s wrong, Allison,” Emily groans with the passing of another cramp, reaching for the towel beside her. 

“You don’t say,” Allison shoots back, taking in the scene - bloody towels, a few bottles of ibuprofen on the counter, the glass of water in Emily’s hand close to spilling. “How long have you been like this? Have you called a doctor?” 

“An hour? Maybe a little more? The bleeding won’t stop.” Emily stares at her friend, wide eyed, unable to bring herself to say what’s in her mind. “What if -” 

“We’re going to the hospital,” Allison cuts her off, and Emily can tell by the look on her face she’s  _ worried.  _

“No,” Emily says weakly. “You know I hate hospitals. It’ll pass. I can go to the doctor tomorrow. Just let me rest.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“You heard me. I -” 

“I don’t fucking care how you feel about hospitals, Emily.” She’s reaching into her pocket for her keys with one hand, pulling Emily to her feet with the other. “We’re going.” 

...

It takes over two hours for the bleeding to stop once they arrive. That’s  _ after _ she’s stabilized, with an IV in her hand and her own room, because they tell her she’ll be staying overnight for observation. 

An ultrasound confirms everything Emily’s feared since the pain started - a miscarriage. 

Miscarriage. It’s a cruel word, one that carries more weight than she’d ever expected it would. There’s a barrage of tests, constant poking and prodding, and when they’re finally done and she’s able to rest, she feels nothing but emptiness, a strange hollowness she can’t comprehend. 

“You need to call him, Emily.” Allison finally breaks the silence. She’s seated at Emily’s right, perched on the edge of a hard, plastic chair - she hasn’t moved in hours, and she looks exhausted. Emily wishes she had the strength to thank her, but whenever she even tries to talk, the words just don’t come. 

“This is just another one of your ridiculous fights,” Allison attempts cautiously after a few more minutes of silence. “He would want to know … to be here with you. He  _ should _ be here with you.” 

“I’m sorry it has to be you.” Emily shifts in the uncomfortable bed, wincing at just how much pain it causes to move even the  _ smallest _ bit. “I didn’t want to be alone.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Allison squeaks, doing her best to keep her tone light and breezy. “I’m right where I need to be.” She swallows hard, crossing and recrossing her legs. “Emily, did something happen with the two of you? Something you’re not telling me?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Emily picks at the tape holding the IV tubing in her hand. It’d taken the nurse at least three tries to find the vein - she’d been ridiculously dehydrated - and even through the adhesive she can see it starting to bruise.

“I can call Shane,” Allison offers. This time, her light tone sounds forced, and she’s talking fast. “Maybe he can talk to Aaron? I’m sure whatever happened will be fine, Em. He’d be so worried if he knew -” 

“He’s seeing someone, Allison.” The words barely escape her lips before she dissolves into sobs, and this time she doesn’t even feel the blinding pain that sears through her abdomen one more time. “It’s been going on for awhile. He doesn’t want to see me. So I beg you, please don’t call Shane. I don’t want either of them finding out about this.” 

“Oh Emily,” Allison visibly pales, her eyes going wide as it all starts to make sense. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Had I known I wouldn’t have -”

“Can you just lay with me please, Al?” Emily bites back a sob, her lip trembling. “Please don’t go.” 

“I’m not going anywhere, Emily. You know that.” Allison settles beside her, carefully curling her legs to the side to give Emily enough space in the tiny bed. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“You can’t do that, you know.” A voice coming from the door - one of the nurses - is watching them with a disapproving stare. “Your doctor should be coming in soon,” she adds with a brief glance at her watch. “She’s probably not going to like that.” 

Emily doesn’t care enough to lift her head off the pillow; luckily Allison takes care of it. “Get the hell out of here,” she snaps, her eyes narrowing with anger. “Give her a goddamn minute.” 

Not for the first time that day, the tears come once again. 

...

_ An incomplete miscarriage. _

The words are enough to make her want to vomit. In fact, she does, shortly after her doctor shares the news and explains her options. She’d introduced herself as Dr. Lawrence when she was first admitted, having been immediately paged from the OB floor to tend to Emily. 

If she’s being honest, Emily is almost comforted by her presence - she’d been so calm and comforting, the compassion in her voice soothing during the first few terrifying moments in the ER. “We’re going to take good care of you,” she’d said to Emily as she curled into the fetal position, crying through one more wave of cramps. 

When she comes in a few hours after doing the ultrasound and delivering the news, Emily has a feeling what she’s about to share next is going to rip her into pieces. 

“You’re about thirteen weeks, so an incomplete miscarriage is likely the case here,” she says, flipping through a few pages of the file in her hands, glancing at the ultrasound images. 

“Incomplete?” Emily asks timidly, running a hand through her hair. She’s been bombarded with medical terminology over the last few hours; it’s all started to run together. In the last few hours she’s learned more about pregnancy than she’s ever wanted to know in her life. 

Dr. Lawrence’s face softens, a look of unmistakable sympathy in her eyes. “It means your pregnancy is no longer viable, and that some, but not all, of the tissue has passed. That explains why you experienced such heavy bleeding. The problem is that some of that tissue remains, and that’s what creates the risk of infection.” 

Beside her, Allison shudders.  _ As she should,  _ Emily thinks. This is  _ too much  _ to think about, but her mind spins in so many different directions it’s hard to stop her own brain. 

“You’re sure this wasn’t my fault somehow? Like … I did something wrong and that’s why this happened?” Emily stares at the wall, blinking back tears, determined not to cry in front of her doctor again. 

“Of course not,” Dr. Lawrence says, sitting down on the side of Emily’s bed. She’s a formidable woman, tall, with dark hair, but with an almost motherly demeanor.  _ I wonder if she has her own kids _ , Emily thinks absentmindedly. “Sometimes, these things just happen, as cruel as that sounds. It can be hormonal, chromosomal, sometimes environmental. Unfortunately we can’t always pinpoint exactly why. But no, Emily, it was not your fault.” 

Nodding, Emily swipes a tear away with the back of her hand. “So what happens now?”

“In some cases, especially early on, a miscarriage will run its course. In others, where you’re a bit further along, it can require medical intervention to ensure there’s no risk of infection. Since you presented with such heavy bleeding, my recommendation is a D&C.”

“What’s that?” Emily asks, already not liking the sound of it. She’s feeling impossibly small, as the events of the day start to catch up with her, and it’s all too much to process. She wants to sleep for days and forget about  _ all of this.  _ Maybe never wake up, but that’s a different story.

“It’s a surgical procedure,” Dr. Lawrence continues calmly and assuredly, noticing the apprehensive look on Emily’s face. “Normally, it’s done under general anesthesia, but I can do a local anesthetic as well. I don’t always recommend that, but it is an option to consider. We can do it later today, if that’s the route you want to take.” 

“I don’t want to be knocked out,” Emily says adamantly, nervously crossing her arms over her chest. “I want to be awake.” 

“It’s your choice. The procedure itself is common. It takes about twenty minutes.” Dr. Lawrence begins to explain the steps in greater detail, and the image that goes through her mind is enough to make Emily’s stomach recoil. She’s dizzy again, everything starting to blur together, and she can barely focus on breathing let alone anything the doctor is saying. The nausea comes back with a vengeance; she leans back against the pillows and closes her eyes. It’s like being in a wind tunnel except there’s no wind; nothing around her makes sense. It’s all a haze, as if she has no control over her own body. 

“Emily, look at me,” someone is saying, but she’s hardly aware of anything except the rapidly spinning room. “Take a deep breath and focus on me.” 

It’s only then Emily leans over the side of the bed and vomits all over the floor, barely missing her doctor’s shoes.

“I’m sorry,” she croaks between dry heaves as Dr. Lawrence calls for a nurse, reaching for the plastic basin on the counter and pressing it into her shaking hands. 

“Stop apologizing,” Allison says from her position by Emily’s side, one hand holding back her hair. “You have nothing to apologize for, Em.” 

She’s too dizzy to stay upright, and as she closes her eyes, unable to fight the exhaustion anymore, she can’t help but think just how wrong Allison is. There’s a nurse in her room moments later, pushing a medication into the IV bag, and  _ all _ she wants to do is disappear. 

Maybe if she’s lucky, she will. 

**...**

“I hate this,” Emily whispers, her eyes glued to the ceiling moments before she’s scheduled to go in. 

“I know,” Allison says with a thin, albeit brave, smile from her place at Emily’s side. Her fingers are as cold as ice, and her face is a sickly shade of gray. She’s holding Emily’s hand as tightly as Emily holds hers. “I’m so sorry, Emily.”

“Don’t be. It’s for the best,” Emily says heavily. “I think we both know that.” _It’s not like she has another choice._

“It doesn’t make it any easier though.” Allison takes a deep breath, and Emily wants to tell  _ her _ to relax. “I’m going to have to go soon, you know.” 

“I know.” 

“I’ll be in the waiting room. I’ll come in as soon as you’re done.” 

**…**

According to Dr. Lawrence, the procedure is successful, but to Emily, it feels anything but that. Leaving the hospital nearly tears her apart, but this time she doesn’t cry. It’s almost as if she’s devoid of any more tears. The pain is replaced by a numbness she’s felt before, the same one she never wanted to experience ever again.

“You really shouldn’t be alone,” Allison says as she looks around Emily’s apartment helplessly, surveying the mess they’d left behind. She spies a bloody towel on the floor and kicks it out of sight, but it’s too late. Emily’s already seen it. “You heard what the doctor said.” 

“I want to be alone, Allison. Plus … you need to get back to Shane. You’ve done so much already. I’ll be okay.” She sounds more convincing than she feels. She’s  _ still _ cramping - apparently that’s  _ normal, _ but nothing about this feels even remotely normal. 

“Em-”

“Please, Allison. I really just want to be alone for a little while. I promise I’ll call you if I need anything.” 

“I called Aaron,” Allison says suddenly, looking guilty. She closes her eyes briefly, waiting for Emily’s inevitable anger, yet it doesn’t come.  _ She’s too tired. _

“Tell me you didn’t,” Emily groans. She’s too tired to argue any further. “I don’t want to speak to him.” 

“I did. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do, but come on, Emily. The man spent an entire year loving you. For Christ’s sake, he's the one who got you pregnant. He would want to know.” 

“Did you tell him?” 

“Of course I didn’t. That’s up to you. But I did tell him he needs to call you. I’d expect to hear from him later on.” As she heads for the door, Allison turns to face Emily. “Please at least pick up the phone when he calls.” 

…

She doesn’t have to pick up the phone to know it’s him, but she does anyway.

“Allison called me,” he says before she even has a chance to end the call before it starts. “She said I should call you...it sounded important.” 

“Everything is fine,” Emily says curtly, yet he knows her better than that. “She made a mistake.”

“I don’t believe you.” His voice is almost kind, patient. “You and I both know she wouldn’t have called me unless she absolutely had to.” 

_ He’s right.  _ “How’s your girlfriend, Aaron? Does she know what you’re doing right now? What would she say if she knew just  _ who _ you were on the phone with?” 

For a brief moment he says nothing, yet she can hear his sharp inhale on the other end of the line. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, Emily.” 

“I have nothing to say to you, Aaron, and I certainly don’t need your help,” she says coldly, about to slam the phone down in his ear. “Please don’t call me again.” 

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 33 coming soon!


	33. Thirty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just don’t Aaron. Don’t even try to justify it. I don’t care what you want to say. You made your choice. It wasn’t me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we get to the goods, I want to thank you all for the love on the last chapter. I was anxious of how it would ultimately turn out, since 32 also hit very close to home for me personally. The TW from the last chapter applies here (in mentions/references), and we see the introduction of a few pretty pivotal characters from season 6, but no real spoilers if you haven’t seen those episodes. As always, enjoy, and let me know what you think <3 .

**Chapter 33: Don’t Save Me**

_ Don't save me when I'm falling down _

_ You're always the one waiting on the ground _

_ But I still dream and make believe _

_ You'll be there for me when I am bleeding _

When junior year starts, she’s grateful for the distraction of school and  _ finally _ being away from DC again. It’s a stark difference to a year ago, when all she wanted was to get the absolute fuck out of New Haven. Now, it’s like a bubble of safety, a place she can exist without having to think too much about much of  _ anything _ . She has a new apartment, this one a bit further away from campus, and there isn’t much that reminds her of Aaron here. She can pretend like he doesn’t even exist … like none of it ever even happened.

_ But it did, she remembers all of it. She forgets nothing, no matter how she tries _ . 

She turns twenty-one in October. It’s anticlimactic at best, but she doesn’t mind. She and Allison find themselves at a party at one of their friends’ apartments, with a slew of people she’s gotten to know since starting at Yale but she’s not into it. Even though it’s a fairly lively event, it’s not like there’s much to celebrate - if she’s being  _ truly _ honest, she doesn’t even care about her birthday that much. 

“You’re sure you don’t want to stay out?” Allison asks as they stumble home in their heels just a little past midnight. “It’s still pretty early.” 

“It’s okay,” Emily mumbles, just drunk enough that she’ll pass out the second her head hits the pillow, if she’s lucky. “I just want to go home. Besides, Shane’s coming tomorrow, isn’t he?” 

From the corner of her eye, Emily sees Allison nod hesitantly, almost apologetically. “Yeah. I told him to come later in the afternoon, though. In case you wanted to stay out later or something.” 

Her heart aches for a moment -  _ how _ does she deserve a friend as good as Allison? “It’s fine, Al. I’m tired, and I can tell you are too. Let’s just go home.” 

When she wakes up the morning of her twenty-first birthday, the only remnant of the night before is a slight headache in her temples - nothing some water and a large coffee can’t fix. Instead, the only thing in her mind is her  _ twentieth _ birthday from a year ago - when Aaron showed up at her door unexpectedly. It’d been the beginning of the end. 

She hasn’t worn the necklace he’d gotten her since July, but it’s kept safe in a box beside her bed, because no matter what, she can’t bring herself to part with it. She turns it over in her fingers; the delicate gold still looks as new as it did the first day she put it on. When the idea pops into her mind she almost laughs, because it seems like such a goddamn cliche, and she’s  _ smarter _ than that. 

But about an hour later, she finds herself in the tattoo shop less than a mile away from her apartment, the necklace tucked in her fist. And when the needle sears and burns indelible black ink, a permanent reminder into her skin, she closes her eyes and lets it happen, because at this point, the stinging pain of anything  _ else _ is a welcomed change. 

...

Emily’s having coffee alone one morning in November when someone runs right into the back of her chair, coming  _ very _ close to spilling their drink - and hers too - all over her table. 

“What the fuck?” she yelps a little louder than she should in the middle of the shop, rising from her chair to see a man looming over the table. 

“Pardon me,” he says, looking apologetic, frazzled, and exhausted. He smells slightly of smoke; she contemplates asking if he has a cigarette. Despite his haggard, scruffy appearance, his Scottish accent is almost charming. “It’s impossible to find a table in this place.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Emily smoothes her hair over her shoulder and eyes him with interest. “You can sit here,” she offers. “I’m by myself.” The coffee shop is crowded - hardly any open spaces, in the midst of the morning rush. 

“Thanks.” The mysterious man sits in the chair across from hers, extending his hand. “I’m Sean.

“Emily.” She shakes his hand in return, completely aware of the way this Sean person is looking at her. He’s eyeing her up and down, but it doesn’t look like he’s even remotely interested in fucking her, like most men do. He looks like he wants something else - something else she can’t figure out. “You come here a lot?” 

“Not often,” he admits, taking a sip of his drink, his accent thick. “American coffee is too weak. Normally I just make my own when I’m here on travels.” 

“You’re not wrong about that,” she muses, her interest piqued. 

“A student I take it?” He nods at the spread of papers across the table; she’s attempting to study for an exam without a ton of success. “Yale? What are you studying?” 

“Linguistics,” she offers, wondering if sharing all of this information with a total stranger is the right thing to do. “It’s my third year.” 

Sean tilts his head to the side, as if he’s  _ very _ interested in what she’s saying. “What are you planning on doing with that … once you leave  _ Yale _ ?” It’s the emphasis he places on the word that tells her he’s impressed.  _ It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be _ , she thinks. 

“I don’t know actually,” she shrugs honestly, wondering why a complete stranger has taken this much interest in her so quickly. “Haven’t given it much thought.”  _ It’s not a lie. She hasn’t given it an ounce of consideration. Not since the summer, at least. She can barely get through the day sometimes as it is.  _ “What I do know is I don’t want to live here forever.” 

He nods knowingly, a gleam in his eyes. “I might be able to help you out with that.” 

She’s intrigued even more so now. “What do you mean?” 

“My team is always looking for people with linguistic backgrounds,” he says casually, yet it’s clear he’s choosing his words carefully. “Do you speak any other languages, Emily?” 

“Arabic, Spanish, French, and Italian,” she says easily, and his eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline as she rattles off the list. “Your team?” 

He only smiles, as if whatever she just said pleased him like she passed some test she didn’t know she was taking, and glances at his watch. “We should talk again. I must be going,” he says, reaching into his wallet and passing her his card. “If you’re serious about what I said, call me sometime. We’ll chat further and see if it might be a good fit.” 

She takes the card, holding it between her fingers. “I will.” She agrees, even if she has no idea what she’s saying. 

“I’ll see you around, Emily,” Sean says, reaching for his jacket. He turns for the door, leaving her alone at the table with his card in her hands. 

She turns it over in her hands - it’s simple, black, with thin white letters taking up one side.  _ Sean McAllister,  _ it reads, along with a phone number and nothing else.  _ Interesting,  _ she thinks, and tucks it into her pocket for safekeeping. 

As he walks out, Emily has a feeling it’s not the last time their paths will cross.

...

It’s the middle of her junior year when she sees Aaron again, much to her shock and surprise.

She’s home for a few days in February to appease her mother **,** much to her displeasure.

_ You didn’t even come home for Christmas, _ her mother reminded her on the phone. What Emily doesn’t mention is Elizabeth had been away, on yet one more trip, so she’d spent the holiday with Allison and her family. Of course her mother won’t remember  _ that _ , or see her point. 

Emily didn’t bother fighting her mother on the request; it’s not worth it to argue with her anymore. Instead, she agrees, and makes a mental note to ask Elizabeth if in return she can spend spring break in Europe with Leah, her friend attending school in London.

She needs a break from New Haven, anyway, plus Sean has suggested meeting up when she’s there and he’s back home. “There’s someone I want to introduce you to,” he’d said the other week when she mentions possibly spending time in Europe the next month. “Someone who might be able to get you a job after your graduation.” It’s a tempting offer, albeit a mysterious one. They’ve had coffee almost weekly since their initial meeting while he’s here on business. He’s intriguing in a way no one else is - she _still_ isn’t exactly sure what he _does_. It’s never made sense, yet that doesn’t stop her from trying to figure him out. 

She has a feeling it won’t just be sightseeing and gallivanting around the countryside like she’s used to. It sounds a bit more … complex **…** than that **.** It makes her heart race. She loves it. It’s exactly the kind of thing she’s been waiting for. 

With her back to the door in the side office of the mansion, she’s reading one of the  _ many  _ travel books that line the shelves - this one is about Dubrovnik - her legs tucked underneath of her, when a voice coming from behind snaps her right out of her own head. 

“Excuse me, I’m going to need to see some identification, please.” From the tone of the voice, it’s not the first time he’s tried to get her attention.

She stills instantly, the book falling off of her lap, every muscle in her body suddenly frozen, her back stiff as a rod.  _ No.  _ She stays motionless; maybe if she doesn’t move, it’ll be just her mind playing games.  _ This has to be a joke.  _

“Emily?” He recognizes her as he moves further into the office, as if he has to prove to himself she’s actually sitting there. 

_ She still can’t bring herself to turn around. Of all the things she expected coming home, this certainly wasn’t one of them. You’re supposed to be long gone,  _ she thinks.  _ She hasn’t seen him since the night he walked out of her apartment in July.  _

She isn’t expecting it  _ at all _ , and he comes closer until he’s right behind her. If she moves just an inch and turns around, she could touch him. He’s not supposed to be here, but neither is she. The Ambassador’s mansion is now foreign to them both. Now, they’re just two misfits who somehow managed to find one another, if only for a brief moment in time, in the cold, empty house. She gets up from her position on the couch, turning to face him with an unreadable expression on her face.

Aaron can’t help but do a double take when he finally sees all of her. She’s thinner than she was in the summer, her eyes are darker, and he wonders briefly if she’s developed some unhealthy habits in the last few months, since she has to pull her skirt up over her hips repeatedly. He has to fight to hide the shock on his face; he  _ clearly _ wasn’t expecting to see her, either.

“What are you doing here?” 

“I live here sometimes,” Emily retorts sarcastically, not bothering to hide her disdain, even though she’s clearly stunned and her guard rises. “What are  _ you _ doing here? Did you get fired from the FBI already?” 

“Your mother asked me to come, actually.” His hand slides to the gun on his hip out of habit. “I’m training some of the new hires with Shane.” 

“Is that so?” Emily makes a face, wondering if her expression gives away.  _ Her mother had failed to mention this little detail when she’d gotten home the other day.  _ She tries to ignore the dull ache in her chest that’s starting to spread through her body.

“Trust me, I was just as surprised as you when she called.” 

“I hope you’re not training them on decorum,” she says, gracefully lifting herself onto the large desk, crossing one knee over the other suggestively, noticing the way he looks her up and down, and how his eyes linger on her legs for just a minute too long. “Maybe I should enlighten them about why you don’t  _ actually _ work here anymore.”

Aaron’s throat goes dry; he knows what she’s trying to do. She’s trying to rattle him, catch him off guard, and it’s working. “That won’t be necessary, Emily.” 

“Speaking of that, do you remember what we did in this office?” She asks, making a show of recrossing her legs. She’s being bold of course, but it’s all an act, a misguided coping mechanism. The truth is, seeing him is like a steel knife in her chest, a cold reminder of all the feelings she’s fought so hard to forget.  _ This is harder than she thought it would be.  _

“Emily,” he says thickly, wishing he’d just walked past the door without stopping.  _ Of course he remembers. He fucked her on the very desk she’s sitting on. More times than he can remember.  _ “Don’t.” 

“Don’t what, Aaron? I’m just reminiscing.” She says coldly, sliding back a few inches, leaning against the wall. “No harm in that, right?” What she doesn’t tell him is how the thought of it hurts, a twist of the knife in her chest. Even months later when she’s still  _ so _ angry at him, there are things she wants to say, things she wants to ask. “After all, it’s been awhile.” 

“Emily,” he begins, unsure of where and how to start. “We shouldn’t be here, you know.” 

“You’re the one who interrupted me. Maybe  _ you  _ shouldn’t be here. I wasn’t bothering anyone. It’s pretty bold of you to tell me what I should be doing in  _ my  _ mother’s house.” 

“You’re in a government-owned residence” he attempts, sounding strained. “My job is to keep said residence secure.” 

“I thought you didn’t work security anymore. Maybe you’ve lost your touch.” 

“I didn’t know who you were,” he shoots back. “Protocol states anyone without a proper -” 

“Fuck protocol, Aaron. You  _ wouldn’t _ know me anymore, anyway.” Her voice is laced with anger and pain, a culmination of the last several months of radio silence between them both. It’s clear there’s a lot she wants to say, and he deserves to hear every single word. 

There’s no hiding the guilt that spreads across his face as he studies hers. “Emily,” he repeats, visibly frustrated, looking around the empty, quiet office. “I need to get back to work.” It’s not necessarily an excuse, either. They’ll be looking for him soon. Shane will know where he is immediately if he’s gone too long. He needs to lay low while he’s here, but now that she’s right here, he can’t just walk away. 

“No one’s stopping you from leaving.” 

“I’m sorry about how things ended, Emily,” he attempts, knowing full well it won’t do any good. What he  _ wants  _ to say is how he wishes he could take  _ all  _ of it back, but he made his choice. There’s  _ no _ getting her back now. He doesn’t  _ deserve  _ her; that much he knows.

“Just don’t Aaron. Don’t even try to justify it. I don’t care what you want to say. You made your choice. It wasn’t me.” Emily gathers her shoes from beside the couch, and doesn’t bother putting them on. She doesn’t wait for a response, either, as she hurries out of the office, throwing open the door without a care in the world if anyone notices or sees. Seeing him  _ hurts _ more than she ever thought it would, bringing back every painful memory. Even though the way to her bedroom is a right hand turn, she makes a left, making a beeline toward the kitchen where she has an open of gin stashed somewhere in the depths of the freezer. 

She wakes up the next morning with a splitting headache and the empty bottle of gin in her hand. 

…

Emily hasn’t been to Europe since her trip to Paris almost two years ago, but now it feels like home. She’s never been happier to leave the US, even for a brief period of time. She and her friend Leah spend two days in London, three in Dubrovnik, and a brief overnight in Prague before their last three nights in Dublin. On the second to last night of her trip, she meets up with Sean McAllister in a small pub on the outskirts of the city when Leah is off on a date with an old friend. 

He buys her a drink; it’s so incredibly strong just sniffing it makes her feel tipsy, and she sips it slowly, staring out the window as Sean studies her. 

She’s about to ask why they had to meet in  _ this  _ particular bar when he talks first. 

“It’s obvious, you know.” He’s leaning back in his chair; his eyes haven’t drifted from her in almost ten minutes. 

“What is?” 

“You’re in love with someone.” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

He chuckles. “You heard me. Tell me about him.” 

“Where on earth did that come from?” 

“I’ve had my suspicions for a while now. Never found the right time to ask.” 

“And now is a great time?” 

“It’s not like we have anywhere to go, do we?” 

“And how did you come to this ... conclusion?” She shifts in her seat, wishing Sean couldn’t read her so accurately. He’s one of the only ones who can. 

Sean cocks his head to the side. “You don’t talk about him, but you never talk about anyone else, either. Ever since I met you, you’ve never mentioned anyone you’re remotely interested in. Want to hear my guess?”

“I don’t fall in love, Sean.” Emily laughs, reaching for her glass.  _ Not anymore, at least _ . “But share if you must.” 

“Right there.” He picks up his own drink. “When I mentioned it, you immediately reached for your drink. Avoidance. Coping skill at its finest. What I think,” he says thoughtfully, slowly, “Is there’s someone out there you’re pining over. And regardless of whatever reason you can’t have him, you’re in love with him.” 

She stares at him, wide eyed, unable to form words, let alone a coherent response to his accurate analysis. “I think I’ll have that second drink now.” 

“That’s what I thought.” 

Their second round is halfway gone when Sean speaks again. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” As if on cue, another man appears seemingly out of nowhere, wearing a leather jacket and a scarf, a slight stubble on his face and a purposeful stride. He clearly knows Sean, judging by the way Sean gets right out of his seat and greets him with a handshake, exchanging a quick, albeit knowing, greeting. 

“So this is Emily Prentiss,” the other man says, his British accent thick and his eyes sparkling. 

“Emily, this is Clyde Easter. Clyde, meet Emily Prentiss.” 

“Sean tells me he plucked you out of a coffee shop in the middle of New Haven, Emily. Tell me, is that true?” He’s charming and pleasant, his accent is like a melody. 

“It is.” She offers her hand and he shakes it, his grip firm and strong **.** “So you’re the one Sean’s been telling me about.” There’s something about Clyde she likes right away. 

They have a third round of drinks before the conversation lulls, and then changes to something entirely different. Something she isn’t expecting. 

“Let me tell you a little bit about what we do, Emily,” Clyde says, leaning forward and lowering his tone. 

She’s all ears. 

…

Aaron starts looking at rings in April, because it seems like he should, not because he’s completely sold on the idea of marrying Haley. But it’s been a year since they’ve met; in that time they’ve moved from Philadelphia back to Northern Virginia, found an apartment, split a bank account, and at this point, their lives are intertwined.

He’s now fully employed by the FBI, finding his footing with his new team - the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, while Haley gets a new job at a marketing agency. At first it’s an adjustment but they settle in fairly easily. It’s comfortable; it becomes routine. Some days he thinks he could even be happy, if he could only just  _ forget _ everything else. 

He proposes in June, and of course, Haley says yes without hesitation. In fact, she’s too busy crying to notice how much his hands tremble as the ring slides onto her finger. She busies herself with wedding plans less than a day later, pouring over each and every small detail from appetizers to napkin folds to floral arrangements. Each night when he gets home she shows him yet  _ another _ folder full of perfectly placed images and options, chattering animatedly about it all, nothing but happiness in her eyes. And as he listens, nodding his head, he can’t help but remember  two summers ago, when  _ everything _ had changed.

But he made his choice, he reminds himself, and he forces himself to smile as Haley chatters on, blissfully unaware. 

...

To Emily’s surprise, she has enough credits to graduate early, in May of her junior year. What’s funny about the whole situation is, Allison does too, thanks to all of those AP classes they took in high school yet barely cared about yet somehow managed to pass with flying colors. Emily can barely stand it in New Haven anymore, either. She’s  _ tired _ . Tired of pretending, tired of the facade. She needs to get the  _ fuck out _ of here. Sean recognizes it too, and makes an offer she can’t turn down, dependent on her graduation and successful completion of training over the summer, of course. It’s a relief - the only thing sustaining her is the fact that soon,  _ very soon _ , she’ll be living a completely different life.

“Where do you want to go?” Sean asks her over coffee one day in April, weeks before graduation when she’s supposed to be studying for an exam. Her notes are spread out in front of her, staring right back at her, yet she can’t bring herself to care even a little.  _ None of it matters, anyway.  _ She understands the double meaning behind his words.

“It doesn’t matter to me. Anywhere but here.” 

_ She means it. _

…

Emily graduates from Yale in late May, and is wildly hungover for the ceremony, thanks to the bottle of wine (and half of another) she consumed the night before. She wasn’t even going to walk at all, but much to her chagrin, her mother shows up in New Haven two days before graduation day,  _ demanding _ her to do just that. “You are going to appease me one more time, considering the amount of money I put into this education of yours.” 

She reluctantly agrees, again too tired to argue with her mother, and wobbles on her feet when she marches across the stage. As she collects her diploma and descends the steps on the other side, she realizes she’s  _ finally  _ free.

…

She spends the spring and early summer in Europe, under the guise of an extravagant graduation trip, but it’s  _ anything  _ but that. 

The weeks with Sean and Clyde are thrilling, terrifying at times, and  _ exactly _ what she needs to take her mind off of everything she left behind in the states. 

They take her under their wing immediately, showing her the ins and outs of their team, training her in the complexities of analyzing, teaching her the subtle art of getting into the minds of these people she’s never known  _ actually exist _ , except in the movies. It’s a world she never expected to ever be a part of, yet it feels so natural and comes so easily it’s as if she’s been doing it all her life.

“You’re a natural, darling,” Clyde tells her, and she wonders if it’s actually a compliment. She befriends Tsia Moseley and Jeremy Wolff, two of the other _recruits_ , fairly quickly, and it’s only  _ after _ she understands the true nature of what she’s being asked to do does she realize  _ this _ is what she’s been waiting for. Something reckless,  _ dangerous.  _ The nature of the work is uncertain, there’s no rulebook or precedent. For the first time in what seems like  _ ever _ , she doesn’t feel numb to everything around her. In fact - it’s the opposite. She’s never felt more calm, more assured, or at ease.

Maybe  _ this  _ will be the thing that finally allows her to let go - being someone else, someone that  _ doesn’t actually exist _ . 

Right before she heads back to the states, Sean offers her the position she’s been coveting, and she says yes without hesitation. 

“You’ll start in late September,” Clyde tells her, handing over a new set of plane tickets - one for her flight home, and one for the flight back in the fall. “Have a safe trip home, Emily.”

…

Allison is less than enthused when Emily tells her the news, as she expected. It’s not the full story and she has to gloss over some of the details, but Allison is so astounded by it all she doesn’t even ask the questions she  _ should _ . 

“You’re  _ moving _ to Europe?” She asks with disbelief, shaking her head as if she heard Emily incorrectly. “To do what?” They’re seated on an outdoor patio with two lemonades in DC one morning in mid-August, when the summer sun is bright and warm. For the first time in a long time, she feels content.  _ At peace, for once.  _

“Find myself?” Emily asks sweetly and perfectly vague, completely avoiding most of her friend’s other questions. “Only for a few months, Al.” It’s not a total lie - Sean and Clyde hadn’t given her a definite timeline.  _ Be flexible, _ they advised, and it’s good enough for her. There’s nothing  _ here _ for her now anyway. Yet of course she can’t tell Allison that, so she has to lie. 

“I don’t know about this, Emily. Are you  _ sure _ ?” 

“I’ve never been more sure about anything, Allison.” 

Her friend takes a deep breath, and Emily feels just a pinch of guilt for leaving without telling her the full truth. “Promise me you’ll come back, Em. I have a really bad feeling about all of this.” 

“I promise.” 

…

The circled date on her calendar approaches, and with less than a week until her move, she finally starts to clean out her apartment. 

“You know I have class in an hour, right? The semester just started. I really can’t be late, Em. My professors already know me as the girl who graduated early. It’s like they look for me every time I show up to see if I can still hang.” Allison rambles without a response after she lets herself into Emily’s apartment one afternoon in September.

A brief glance around the small living room immediately raises her suspicions. It’s neat as a  _ pin _ , she observes, which isn’t necessarily unusual, but the fact that many of the artifacts, decorations, and any personal touches have been cleared out, is alarming to her. 

“In here!” Emily’s voice calls from what has to be the bedroom. There aren’t many places to hide in these four walls.  _ But are there? _

Allison walks over the creaking floorboards of the hallway and steps over the growing pile that has spread from the opening around Emily’s closet across her whole bedroom, practically covering the entire floor. “What are you doing?” She steps on a dress that she still has a price tag attached. 

“I told you this wouldn’t take long.” Emily digs through a pile to her left until she finds what she was looking for, pushing multiple pairs of shoes out of the way. “Where the fuck did I put it?” She tosses a few more things aside, then suddenly pumps her fist. “Aha! I found it.” 

“What are you doing?” Allison sets her heavy bag on the floor, careful to avoid the mess. She has a feeling this is going to take longer than Emily initially said. She’d been vague as hell on the phone. 

“Do you want this?” Emily asks Allison, handing over an expensive handbag, one Allison has always loved, and borrowed on more than one occasion. _ She may as well give it over; she’s not going to need it.  _

Allison’s eyes nearly pop right out of her head. “Are you on something right now? This bag costs like … a thousand dollars. Wasn’t this a gift?” 

“I wish,” Emily responds sarcastically with a casual shrug of her shoulders. “If you want it, it’s yours.” 

“Why don’t you take it with you?” She asks the obvious question, but it’s what she  _ doesn’t _ ask that’s written all over her face. “I’m sure you could find a use for it while you’re gone” She knows Emily’s closet as well as she knows her own - there’s no need to give any of this away.

“I doubt it,” Emily tosses the bag to her friend before reaching into the depths of her closet once again. 

“What are you doing, Emily? Allison asks again quietly, sitting on the edge of Emily’s bed. “Please talk to me.” 

“Moving on.” She says it so casually, without even a trace of emotion. If she actually lets herself feel all the things she’s avoided for so long, she won’t go. She has an out; there’s always an out  _ until there isn’t _ , Sean and Clyde had told her when they checked and double checked she wasn’t going to bail.  _ You have to be sure _ , they’d told her.

“I think you’re making a mistake,” Allison says. “Have you even thought this through? Thought about what you’re going to do if you get there and you’re unhappy?” 

“Al,” Emily begins, calmly and patiently. “I have to do this.” 

“Listen, I know you’ve been through a lot. What’s happened the last couple of years is enough for anyone to lose themselves a little bit. But … Em. It’s been awhile. “Moving to Europe isn’t moving _ on _ . It’s moving  _ away _ . From everything you know.”

Emily mumbles something unintelligible, not bothering to look at Allison. 

“What?” Allison asks, her eyes locked on an expensive bracelet haphazardly tossed on the huge pile by Emily’s foot.  _ What the hell is going on?  _

“Nothing. Just thinking about all the packing I have to do.” It sounds like a lie and she knows it, but in the moment, she doesn’t care. 

“I wish you’d just tell me what you’re really up to.” Allison sighs heavily. “What if you regret this?” 

“I won’t be gone forever, Allison. I told you that.” 

“But … what’s going to bring you back here, if you want to get away  _ so  _ badly?” 

…

Aaron is halfway through his coffee when she arrives, and he breathes a sigh of relief that she actually showed up and didn’t back out. When he answered the call, the voice on the other line had been almost frantic yet frustratingly hesitant, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this would be a waste of his time. 

Allison hurries through the door in a flurry of red hair going in every direction with a wave in his direction, rain drops falling from her jacket. She fumbles with the umbrella in her hands and the heavy bag hanging from her shoulder before sinking into the chair across from his. 

“Thanks for meeting me,” she says with an apologetic smile. Then with a nervous glance around the small coffee shop, she adds, “Emily would kill me if she knew I was here.” 

“I figured as much.” He wonders if Allison feels as awkward as he does. “You want something? I’ll flag the waitress down.” 

She nods emphatically, and only then does Aaron notice the dark circles under her eyes. “I have an exam at 4.” She plucks at the menu on the table in front of her, eyes narrowing at the endless number of drink choices. “More coffee probably is a bad idea, but at this rate, I’m not going to make it until then let alone through the damn test.” 

“Shane told me a few weeks ago you started at Georgetown. That’s amazing - congratulations.” 

Allison smiles proudly. “Thank you. My parents were thrilled. I don’t think they thought I would even graduate college let alone graduate early  _ and _ get into law school. I don’t know what ever gave them that idea,” she says with a wry grin. “I made such great choices back in those days.” When the waitress appears, she orders a cold brew with an extra shot of espresso, and a small hot coffee  _ to go _ . “This might in fact kill me,” she says, shifting in her chair with a roll of her eyes. “My caffeine intake has practically doubled since the semester started again.”

“How have you been otherwise?” He’s not quite sure where to begin - why she even asked him here is a mystery, even though he has  _ some _ idea what it might entail. A certain someone, perhaps. That’s quite possibly the  _ only _ reason why she would be here. 

“Just questioning my sanity of making the decision to go to law school in the first place. A year off wouldn’t have been a bad idea. Also, Shane and I moved in together last month.” 

“He told me that too.” Aaron smiles a real smile - his friend had practically beamed when she shared the news with him over beers a couple of weeks ago. “He seems really happy, Allison.  _ I’m _ happy for you both.” 

“I am too,” she says with a grin that disappears too soon, and there isn’t much else she can blame it on besides the inevitable obvious.

“How is she?” Aaron asks, even though he doesn’t have to. He knows why he’s here. 

“Emily would be so pissed if she knew I talked to you,” Allison says again, studying her fingernails, twisting the bracelet on her wrist. “But … I didn’t know what else to do. Something isn’t right, and there aren’t many people out there I can talk to about Emily, you know.” 

“What’s going on, Allison?” He leans forward in his chair, lowering his voice. 

“Emily is moving to Europe.” 

He closes his eyes for a moment, wishing he could say he was surprised. “When? **”**

“About a week I think? She hasn’t been exactly up front about her plans. Seems like there’s a lot of moving parts.” 

“For how long?”

“That’s the thing,” Allison says slowly, as if trying to figure it out in her mind. “It doesn’t even seem like she knows.” 

“Sounds like Emily.” 

“I’m worried about her, Aaron. She’s being so secretive lately.”  _ There’s a hell of a lot more than that, but let’s start with the basics. _

“And that surprises you?” 

“I mean, it’s Emily, so of course not. But she was  _ never  _ this secretive with  _ me _ ,” Allison reasons, briefly smiling at the waitress who brings her both coffees. “I know she keeps things pretty close to the vest, but I’ve always been able to get it out of her eventually. But something is up, and I don’t like it.” 

He feels an overwhelming sense of dread, yet he wishes he didn’t. “What do you mean?” 

“She’s been  _ weird _ . Distant. Distracted. She’s been hanging out with this guy she won’t tell me much about. He’s British or something. I don’t know how she knows him. It’s been going on for awhile, actually, but I didn’t realize the extent of it until lately. Last time I tried to bring it up she just ignored me. I know she needs a change, but … this … I don’t know. It isn’t right.” 

Aaron closes his eyes, resting his head on his fist. “And you’ve tried to talk to her?” 

“Several times. It’s like she just … doesn’t care anymore. She’s been so messed up ever since ….Maybe I should have taken her to see someone - “ she stops suddenly, as if she remembered something she  _ shouldn’t  _ share, quickly clapping a hand over her mouth. “Wait. Did she ever tell you?” 

“Tell me what?” None of this is making sense, except the fact that something is really wrong. 

“When I called you last summer … do you remember that?”

How could he forget? He’d been in basic training in Philadelphia; things with Haley had started to take off, but it’s different now. If only he’d made a different choice back then. It’s a thought he’s had, over and over again, since he walked out of her apartment and her life. There’s hardly been a day he hasn’t thought about that choice, the fact that it probably was the wrong one, and all the wrong ones after that. He decides not to share any of that, because there isn’t any way to take it back now. “Of course.” 

“Did you ever call Emily?” There’s a degree of protectiveness in her voice he recognizes instantly. Her loyalty to Emily will never cease. She’ll never tell him. 

“Of course I did,” he snaps, wishing  _ he  _ didn’t sound just as guarded as Allison does. 

“How did that go?” 

“About as well as you could expect.” He  _ knows _ she’s pressing him for information too _. _ “What are you getting at here, Allison? If you’re this worried,” he lowers his voice when he catches the woman at the table next to theirs staring at them. “If you’re this worried about her, I need more information.” 

“She didn’t tell you about it, did she?” Allison shakes her head, looking forlorn.”I should have known.” 

“About  _ what _ ?” 

“It’s not my business to share.” She finishes the first coffee in her hands, immediately reaching for the other. There’s a look on her face he doesn’t understand, as if she’s remembering something she’s fought so hard to forget. “I was hoping it would have gone differently. But … if you don’t know now …” She trails off. “Maybe it’s better that way.” 

“I called her … I could tell something was wrong right away. But she was so angry. I don’t blame her,” Aaron says. “We didn’t talk very long. She ended the call pretty quickly.” He can still picture the whole exchange in his mind. “What happened?” 

Allison shakes her head. “I’m not breaking my promise to Emily.” She looks torn. “And she’d  _ seriously  _ kill me if she knew what I’m about to say, but it’s the truth.” 

He’s about to ask Allison just  _ what the fuck _ she’s talking about when she speaks again. 

“She loves you, Aaron. She always has. I think she still does, even though she’d deny it.” She glances at her watch, the slightest of grins on her lips. “I shouldn’t say that, especially not now. I know I’m crossing a boundary, considering I  _ barely _ know you, and you’re with someone else. I just know  _ about _ you.” She laughs. “I like to think we could have been friends, had things been different.” 

“Allison,” Aaron starts again, doing his very best to sound as patient as he can. “Is she in trouble?” 

Her lower lip trembles, she tucks her hair behind her ear. “I don’t know, and that’s why I’m afraid. I need your help.” 

...

The bar is impossibly dark, in an area of DC he’s never been, and probably never will be again. Emily clearly picked it to prove a point. To whom, he isn’t quite sure, but he obliges her because he’s afraid if he doesn’t, she’ll bail. He gets there first, as he expected, and finds a hightop table tucked into a corner in the back where they won’t be disturbed.  _ Better not to draw any unwanted attention. _ He immediately orders a drink and is working on a second when a shadowy figure slips into the depths of the bar and out of her jacket, pushing the sheet of hair over her shoulders. 

She’s even thinner than she was when he’d seen her last - in her mother’s house, almost a year ago. Not just thinner but almost gaunt now, actually. Her hair is longer, almost darker, and her eyes even more so _ , and it’s not just the horrible lighting in this place _ , he thinks as she eyes him warily, pulling the barstool out across from him. 

“I didn’t actually think you’d come.” He pushes a drink in her direction. She eyes it suspiciously before reaching for it with a slightly shaking hand. “Interesting choice.” 

“Surprised you found it.” It’s the first time he’s heard her speak in almost a year, too. Her voice hasn’t changed but her words carry more weight. She just sounds  _ tired, guarded, weary. _

“Took me a few loops around the block to find the entrance, actually.” 

The sides of her mouth curl up ever so slightly, only to be gone in seconds. “Why am I here, Aaron?” 

“You tell me, Emily.” He leans back, resting against the wall behind him, watching her. She’s obviously uneasy; her eyes dart back and forth, as if planning her exit. She checks the watch that practically falls off her thin wrist. 

“You talked to Allison.” It’s not a question, nor it is an accusation. It’s somewhere in the middle, as if she’s feeling him out. 

“I did. She’s worried about you.” 

“She shouldn’t be.” Emily lifts the drink to her lips, swirling the contents of the glass. “I’ve told her not to worry. But she can’t help herself.” 

“So that’s why you’re here? For Allison?” 

Emily studies his face, uncrosses and recrosses her legs. She takes another sip of the drink, then another, before studying the well-worn bar menu in front of her.  _ She’s stalling _ . “That’s not why I agreed to meet you,” she says finally, looking up at him with eyes that remind him of their first few meetings. Untrusting, ambivalent. Hiding  _ something _ .

“Then why did you?” 

She pulls a deep breath into her lungs, looking past his shoulder at whatever is behind him on the wall. “I’m leaving, Aaron. In a few days.” 

_ Allison had been right.  _

“Where?” 

“Europe,” she says almost dreamily, contentedly. “I’m not entirely sure.” She keeps her tone light, because  _ no one _ can know the truth of what she’s actually going to do. “I told you in Paris that one day I would be back. Do you remember that?” 

_ As if he could ever forget.  _ “Is that where you’re going?” 

Emily shrugs. “Who knows.” At this point, she’s not even completely sure. She leans over and lights a cigarette, much to his chagrin. 

“You’re smoking again?” In all honesty, he's not exactly surprised.

“I never really stopped, you know. Except when I was -” She stops, momentarily looks away, then takes a long drag, watching his every move. The smoke in his face coupled with the heavy smoke in the bar is getting to him, and he coughs not once, but twice. “Haley’s not a smoker, I take it?” It’s almost taunting, and she knows it. She knows him well enough to know exactly what buttons to push. 

Aaron narrows his eyes, observing how calm she appears in his presence. He’s not at all surprised - it’s  _ Emily _ after all - she’d  _ never _ be anything but collected. Yet, there’s an uneasiness about her he can’t quite put his finger on. It’s  _ clear _ why Allison was so concerned.

“What are you doing, Emily?” 

“Wondering why I decided to come here in the first place.” 

“Answer my question,” he tells her a little more forcefully than he intended, and her eyes flash, a mix of anger and pain. 

She finishes her drink in one gulp and stubs out her cigarette, reaching for her bag on the back of her chair. “I think this is my cue to leave.” 

“Wait,” he says, reaching for her hand, not quite ready to let her walk away. She’s quick but he’s quicker - his last year of FBI training have come in handy for moments like this. He’s anticipated her making a run for it, and she looks at him with wide eyes when his fingers close tightly around her wrist, holding her in place.

Glancing down at her arm with disdain, Emily pulls back calmly, but he doesn’t let go. “Let me go, Aaron. Take your hand off of me.” 

“Not until you tell me what the fuck you’re doing.” To prove his point, he squeezes her wrist, and doesn’t miss the wince that passes over her face. He loosens his grip, but doesn’t let go. 

“I seem to remember,” she says evenly, quietly, dangerously. “A time I told you I could make a scene the last time you tried to force me to do something. I can still do that, you know.” 

“You’re right,” he murmurs, remembering the exact night she’s referring to, as the image of her battered face flashes through his mind. It feels like a lifetime ago. She has to lean in to hear him. “But you didn’t then. And you won’t now.” 

She laughs coldly. “How do you know?”

“I know you,” he murmurs, but regrets it almost instantly, because it’s the farthest thing from the truth.  _ And it’s all his fault.  _

“No, you don’t. Not anymore.” She tries to pull her arm from his grasp to no avail. “Aaron,” she says again, sweetly, a chilled smile on her lips. “Does Haley know about this?” She tugs back a little harder this time. “Does she know her  _ fiance _ ,” she pauses a moment, placing emphasis on the word, “is in the very back of a seedy dive bar late at night with the girl he  _ fucked  _ senseless for almost a year? I wonder what she would say. She doesn’t strike me as the type who likes to share.” 

He reluctantly lets go; Emily rubs her wrist where it’s already starting to bruise. 

“I didn’t think so.” Her eyes are locked with his, giving away nothing. “I think this just about ends our evening. It was a pleasure to see you one last time. **”** With that she pops off the barstool, steadying herself on her feet before reaching for her jacket and pulling it on. He’s tossing a few bills on the table and before he knows it, he’s following her out of the bar into the darkened back alley.

_ Great _ . Just where he needs to be. 

“Don’t do this, Emily.” Once he says it he regrets it, because when he sees her face, it’s like looking into a mirror of the past. The day stood in her apartment like a  _ fucking  _ coward and ended things for the easier option. When he ended things in a season of discontent, when nothing else was making sense and all he wanted was some  _ fucking _ stability. It’d been a rash decision, one fueled with too much emotion on his end and not enough on hers, yet in the end, it’s  _ his  _ fault they’re here.  _ What if I just gave her more time? Would any of this have happened?  _

“I remember telling  _ you _ the same thing not so long ago,” she says, taking a step back into the shadows where the street lights can’t reach. The little light that’s left casts an eerie glow over her face; she looks almost ghostly. “You didn’t seem to care then. Why do you care now, after all this time? Haley not doing it for you anymore?” 

“I’ve never not cared about you, Emily. I  _ love _ you. I always have. I made a mistake that night.” What he says takes them both by surprise, except she looks furious now. 

“Are you  _ fucking _ serious, Aaron?” It’s anger in her voice this time. Pure, untamed rage that’s been building for the last year, laced with something else he recognizes as sheer pain about to erupt. All because of him. “You don’t get to say that now.” 

“Emily, I’m -” 

“You cast me aside because I wasn’t able to  _ fucking  _ commit to you, Aaron, exactly how you wanted me to. Do you have  _ any  _ fucking idea what it’s like to have the fucking person you -” She pauses for a breath that catches in her throat. “The fucking person you  _ love _ show up at your door and end things with you and have the  _ fucking nerve _ to tell you he’s  _ seeing someone else _ in the same fucking breath?” 

He opens his mouth to speak but she holds up her hand, rendering him silent.

“Do you want to know the best part of it all?” Her face is like stone now, cold and emotionless, as if she’s steeled herself from feeling  _ anything. _ Her ability to turn emotions off is uncanny. “Do you want to know what I was going to tell you that day? You never gave me a chance to.” 

“What are you talking about?” He sounds tired, worn out, and in that moment, she knows she’s already won. 

“You really want to know?” Her hand drifts to her flat stomach, and lingers, as if checking to make sure whatever  _ was _ there is really gone, and the realization of what she’s about to say is like a cruel slap in the face. 

His eyes find hers even though she tries to avoid it as he inches closer. His hand gently cups her chin, forcing her to look at him, and while she doesn’t pull away, it only takes a few seconds before she looks away. “What are you saying, Emily?”

“For what it’s worth, it didn’t last long.” She turns away and tips her head back; he doesn’t have to look at her to know there are tears in her eyes. “I had a fucking miscarriage, Aaron.” 

“What?” It’s like his blood runs cold.

“You heard me. I can’t say it out loud again, Aaron. Please don’t make me.” The hint of desperation in her voice nearly tears him apart. When she turns back to him, she wraps her arms around herself, pacing in a circle like a caged animal, her eyes full of tears now. She lights a cigarette to calm her frayed nerves but she can’t bring herself to smoke it. It burns in her fingers, the smoke circling in a halo around her head. 

“You were pregnant?” He takes a step toward her and she takes a step back, holding up her hands to keep him away. He puts two and two together -  _ this  _ is what Allison was talking about.  _ This _ was what she never told him. It all makes sense - how didn’t he figure it out on his own? How could have he been so callous and cavalier?  _ How didn’t I see this coming? _

“Yeah _ ,”  _ she says hoarsely, a stifled sob muffling her voice, closing her eyes for the briefest of seconds. “For thirteen weeks.” The tears in her eyes finally spill down her pale cheeks like little glass drops. It’s a sobering reminder she’s  _ still _ not completely invincible, no matter how hard she tries to be. “It was yours,” she adds, unnecessarily, and she turns away again, her back to him, yet he still sees her shoulders tremble, her hands press against her eyes. 

_ Oh God. _

“Look at me, Emily.” 

With her back to him he can’t see her close her eyes, the briefest of smiles ghosting her lips at the sound of his voice, gentle and calm, the same tone he’d used when he initially built her trust up bit by bit only to tear it to pieces.The one she’d do anything to relive, and even more to forget. “I can’t look at you, Aaron.” 

“Why?” 

“Because if I do, I won’t be able to look away. And eventually, I’m going to have to. You belong to someone else now, anyway.” 

“I had no idea, Emily. I should have been there. I  _ would  _ have been there with you.” 

“No,” she says, and if it weren’t so quiet in the goddamn streets he wouldn't have heard her. “I’m glad you weren’t there. No one should have had to witness that.” 

“Why are you telling me this now?” He asks softly. He can’t help himself, but she doesn’t owe him an answer - he’s not expecting one. 

“He was yours too.” She’s only telling him in case the unthinkable happens - if she  _ doesn’t  _ return from Europe.  _ He should know the truth _ . “You should know.” 

“He?” 

Her shoulders are past the point of shaking; it takes all of his willpower not to reach out and touch her. “I thought it was a he. I don’t know for sure.” 

“Emily -” 

“You’ll have another chance, Aaron. Haley will be a wonderful mother, when the time comes.” 

What she  _ doesn’t _ tell him is  _ she _ probably won’t have the same opportunity. A few months after the miscarriage, she’d returned to Dr. Lawrence with the sickening feeling something was wrong, and as she anticipated, she was correct. And not for the first time, she cried real tears she didn’t know she was even capable of, as her doctor broke the news gently, a thick folder of test results in her hands.  _ It will make trying to conceive again much more challenging, but you have options, if you want them, Emily was told. She’d shaken her head a resounding no. She’s been through this twice already. No need for a third time. Not now.  _

“What are you saying?” He asks, because he knows what she’s  _ not  _ saying is what she truly means.

“It doesn’t matter anymore now, thankfully.” She turns quickly on her heel, to face him for one last moment before taking off into the night. “At least we can be thankful for that. Goodbye, Aaron.” 

And as she disappears down the street, he knows in his heart it very well might just be the last time he ever sees her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 34 coming soon!


	34. Thirty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ian Doyle. Pleasure.” It’s the way he looks at her, as if he could destroy her and make her feel good while doing it, that sends a chill down her spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments and love on the last chapter. I say it all the time, but it makes me happy to see you enjoying it so much. I read (and reread) all of your comments and it never fails to make me smile, so thank you. We’re supposed to get over two feet of snow tomorrow night (2020 has to end with a bang, right?) so my goal is to finish the chapter after this one on Thursday during my snow day. I actually split this one into two installments since things were getting long again … oops. It should be up soon, if I can get my act together. Finally - there are many references to season 6 characters and plotlines in this chapter, including many lines taken directly from Lauren (6x18). If you haven’t seen those episodes and don’t want spoilers, you may want to avoid this chapter! As always, enjoy, and let me know what you think! <3 

**Chapter 34: Shake It Out**

_And every demon wants his pound of flesh, but I like to keep some things to myself_

_I am done with my graceless heart, so tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart_

_Cause I like to keep my issues strong. It's always darkest before the dawn_

...

**Fall**

It’s a smoother adjustment than she anticipated. Despite the rules and the precarious, dangerous nature of just _why_ they’re even there in the first place, she adapts to her new surroundings almost too easily.They don’t stay in one city for too long unless they’re at the Interpol headquarters, which is only for a few days at most, here and there. Instead they spend time in hotels in cities here and there for the first six weeks. Brussels, Paris, Amsterdam, Copenhagen. Every so often, she has to remind herself she’s actually getting paid to do this. The anonymity of it all is a welcomed change. There’s nothing tying her down. It’s almost freeing. 

Tsia and Jeremy pair off almost instantly yet they try to hide it, but it’s very clear what’s happening between the two of them. Emily isn’t surprised at all. They’ve been throwing bedroom eyes at one another since their first week back in the spring. And on their third night in Copenhagen, in yet another hotel, she lays awake in yet another unfamiliar bed, listening to the staccato thump of a headboard against her wall, punctuated by the muffled cries that can only mean one thing. She’s half tempted to beat against the wall when she’s woken up yet one more night in a row, but she decides to let them have their fun.

Eventually she gives up trying to sleep, and when she stumbles into the hotel bar (if it even counts as a bar, she sees Sean alone at one of the tables in the hotel lobby.

“I take it you heard them too?” 

“How could I not?” His accent sounds extra thick tonight, and Emily wonders just how long he’s been sitting there, judging by his glazed eyes. “This has been happening almost every night since we arrived.” 

“You think it’ll become something?” She tries to sound irritated, but she’s not, really. 

“In my opinion, it’s over when it becomes something.” He’s drinking whiskey tonight, neat, and he’s already filled his glass several times judging by the fact that the bottle beside him on the table is half empty. The sight of it makes her stomach churn. “I could kick them both out for that. If Clyde knew he would have done so already.” 

“Why don’t you?” 

“I’d be a hypocrite if I did.” He passes the bottle in her direction with a sigh.

“So clearly you don’t follow your own rules, do you?” 

Sean narrows an eye, but smiles, and Emily can’t help but think he looks sad - it’s something she wasn't expecting . “You got me.” 

“You gave yourself away,” Emily says simply, before fully comprehending what he’s just admitted. “You’re married.” She tries to hide the shock on her face. 

“Not officially,” he corrects her with a small grin on one side of his lips. “We have a daughter. She’s eight.” A wistful look crosses his face, one she recognizes as longing. It’s one she knows herself. 

“Where are they?” 

“Belgium.” 

“Not Scotland?” 

It’s safer for them in Belgium. I try to see them when I can, which is never often enough.” 

She leans back in the chair, closes her eyes. Now it makes sense why Sean had disappeared for a week when they’d been in Brussels, and why Clyde had turned a blind eye to all of it when she’d asked where he was. “How long were you together?” 

“Twelve years. It’s complicated. But love usually is.” 

Emily nods, letting the pieces click into place, as they always seem to do. Sean keeps things pretty close to the vest, and in all of their travels, he hasn't as much as looked at another woman. Clyde, on the other hand, is a different story. “I had no idea.” 

“You never asked.” 

“How’d you meet?” 

“Doing this.” It’s clear he isn’t talking about sitting in hotel bars with cheap rail liquor.

She does a double take. “This? As in this job?” 

“Not much differently than what’s currently happening upstairs,” he says, his eyes smiling even if his mouth isn’t. “I promised Rebecca I’d get out years ago...when Adaleigh was born. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it, and I let her down. That’s why we’re not formally married. She refused to unless I walked away from all of this. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to leave.” 

“You make it look easy.” Emily offers. “All of this.” 

He chuckles. “Here’s a little secret, Emily. Love is never easy. It never will be. It’s not supposed to be.” 

“We’re more alike than I thought,” Emily muses, her fingers turning cold yet it’s not from the ice in her glass, falling silent for a few minutes. “Letting people down, at least.”

He nods knowingly, as if he’s been waiting for her to say those words. “Are you ever going to tell me about him?” 

“There’s not much to say,” Emily twists a napkin in her fingers. “It’s over. It’s been over. He moved on. He’s happy now.” _There’s so much more, but none of it matters. Not anymore._

“Are you sure about that?” 

“It was his decision. Not mine.” Emily pushes the bottle away. “And I’ve moved on just fine.” 

“By running away?” 

“I didn’t _run_ away,” Emily snaps, her guard rising. “Besides, you’re the one that found me, remember? If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even be here at all.”

“Indeed I did.” He puts his drink down for the first time all night, sits empty handed for a few moments as if contemplating what he’s about to say. “But you are, and there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What’s that?” 

“Promise me something, Emily. And don’t tell any of the others what I’m about to tell you.” 

“I promise.” Emily rolls her eyes, not in the mood for a lecture, but feeling like she’s about to get one anyway. 

“This job. This life. It sucks you in. If you stay long enough, it starts to own you. It becomes you, and if you aren’t careful, it can ruin you. Don’t make the same mistake I did.” 

“What are you saying, Sean?” Emily wishes she’d never come downstairs in the first place. 

“You’ll see in time.” He tops off his glass as the whiskey is finished. They sit in an uneasy silence until the bottles on the bar start to dance before her eyes and her mind starts to settle in a hazy, drunk fog. 

…

**Winter**

She spends the holidays alone in Stockholm, wandering the crowded streets with a cup of strong coffee in her hands at all times. Tsia and Jeremy had invited her to go to France with them, but she can’t think of anything she wants less. She refuses with a kind smile, blaming it on the fact that she’s never been to Sweden, and now she finally has a chance. The truth is, she just wants to be alone.

As it turns out, Stockholm is exactly what she needs - the calm silence at night, the liveliness of the bustling Christmas markets during the day. She isn’t bound to anyone or anything. It’s freeing; for once she feels at peace with herself. 

Two days before Christmas, she calls Allison, because it’s been too long since they last talked. 

“Emily! It’s you! My God, I’ve been waiting for you to call. How are you?” She answers on the second ring, the joy in her voice palpable. “You never gave me a number to reach you at.” 

No one has sounded this excited to talk to her in a very long time. Emily presses the phone to her ear and closes her eyes. “I’m okay, Allison. I’m doing just fine.” 

“How are things going over there?” 

“They’re good,” Emily says dutifully, because clearly telling her the real truth is out of the question. “Things are good. Slow lately, but good. I’m in Stockholm.” 

Her friend sighs with disappointment. “You’re not coming home for Christmas, are you?” 

“Not this year, Al.” 

“I figured as much … I was just hoping maybe you would surprise us.” It’s the hope in her voice that makes Emily’s heart hurt. 

“Next year,” Emily says gently. There’s a muffled voice in the background, the sound of Christmas jazz music being played, the clink of a glass. “Are you heading out? I won’t keep you if you are.” 

“Yeah,” Allison says, sounding slightly regretful even from thousands of miles away. “We uh .. we agreed to go to a Christmas party at one of Shane’s old ... work friends.” 

Emily doesn’t have to ask to know exactly who is hosting this Christmas party. Saying nothing, she curls the phone cord around her hand, letting it cut off the circulation to her fingers.

“Are you angry?” Allison asks after a few moments of silence. “It was a last minute thing .. Shane really wants to go. I’ve hardly spent any time with him because of finals and -”

“Al, really. You don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m not going to jump off a bridge or something.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. 

“Don’t joke about that, Emily. I just … I feel bad, you know. It’s awkward for me too, Em.” 

“Tell me about law school,” she says, more than eager to change the subject, and Allison is more than eager to share. 

After she gives Emily a complete run down of her semester, almost thirty minutes have passed. She stops for a moment, only to add, “I’m really sorry, Em. I should have said something.” 

The cold air from the open window stings her cheeks; the sun is starting to go down. “Al, it’s okay. Really. Seriously. Have fun. And Merry Christmas. Give Shane my best.” 

“Merry Christmas, Em. I miss you.” 

When she hangs up the phone, she doesn’t bother to fight the tears that spill onto her cheeks. 

…

**Winter**

She takes an early flight back to Brussels a few days after Christmas, and when things resume in January, she learns the true intentions of just _why_ they recruited her in the first place. 

“He’s one of the most dangerous we’re tracking,” Clyde says, his tone clipped. It’s the first time she’s ever seen him look truly concerned, and Emily wonders just what he hasn’t told her yet about _Valhalla_. There’s a chill in the air; she wraps her coat around her shivering body, stuffs her hands in her pockets. She wishes she had some coffee, but she’s already had more than usual today. Another cup would just make her sick.

Valhalla is an arms dealer, clearly an alias, and one of the most notorious they’ve ever seen. It's been made abundantly clear their mission is to bring him in alive, and take down his entire organization. Except, he’s almost impossible to trace, let alone track, and when they do, it will take weeks or even months for them to even get close enough to infiltrate his inner circle of associates, let alone anywhere near him. 

Unless, of course, they can tempt him somehow. That’s where _she_ comes in. 

Interpol has been trying to pinpoint his location for months, she learns. And just yesterday, they finally did, in Ireland of all places. It almost seems too easy. “We need to keep surveillance on him for longer or else he’ll suspect it’s a setup,” Sean grumbles, looking exhausted with a mug of coffee in his hand that went cold awhile ago. “He’s smart. He knows all the tricks. He’s been running from something or another forever.” 

“How did no one else find him until now?” Emily asks, not sure if she should even open her mouth given the tension in the room. “He just happened to be in Ireland? 

It’s Clyde who speaks this time, looking ashy and pale. “Sometimes the bastards are hiding in plain sight.” 

_They always are._

…

**Spring**

It’s a process - an incredibly slow one. They trace him for weeks, follow his every move, learn the ins and outs of his organization and his contacts. Eventually, they get close enough that maybe, just maybe, the plan they’ve spent weeks - _months, really_ -perfecting, might just come to fruition. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Sean asks her, not for the first time as it starts to become more real. “Once you’re in, there’s no going back. Not without consequences.”

_She can’t say he didn’t warn her already._

“Yes,” she says without as much as a blink, looking at the rest of the team, who is staring at her as if they expect her to run away screaming. Emily has grown to appreciate them all, considering they’re the closest thing she has to friends throughout this whole ordeal. This is her part of the deal - this is what she signed up for. 

It could all be over in a minute or even a second, she reminds herself. _But I made this decision_.

_Maybe this is where I’ve belonged all along._

In March, she becomes Lauren Reynolds, a Belgian arms dealer with hair three shades lighter than her usual dark, and a wardrobe that makes her look much older than her real age. She meets Jack Fahey, a greasy slimeball with a sharp Boston accent who makes her cringe because he gets too close every time he leers in her direction. He looks at her with the same eyes she’s seen over and over - he just wants to fuck her, and makes no effort to hide it. But he’s well connected in this world she’s been studying for so long, and he’s her in. 

“He’s the guy you want,” Fahey says at their second meeting, showing her a photograph of a man with eyes so blue she can’t look away. “This guy can get you everything you need.” 

“Can you introduce me to him?” 

Fahey stares at her for a long time. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

...

**Spring**

“Are you sure about this, Aaron?” Sean Hotchner asks, not for the first time, one day in April, two months before the wedding. “You’re really going to go through with it?” 

_Not this again_. Aaron doesn’t have to ask his brother to be more specific, nor does he have the patience to. They’ve had the same conversation before, without much success. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not a decision I just pulled out of thin air.” Aaron swallows, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “It’s not like I woke up one day and thought, hey, may as well marry Haley in a few months, you know.” _Not quite, but it’s close to what happened_.

“I got that part down, Aaron. I just still don’t understand why.” Sean reaches for his lighter in his pocket, not missing the way his brother grimaces. “I know, I know. I’m trying to quit.” 

“You said that last time. And what don’t you understand?” 

“Any of this. How you went from what you had to this. What got you here?” He doesn’t meet Aaron’s eyes, which can only mean one thing. He’s talking about Emily. Aaron has never fully elaborated on their breakup, only uttering four useless words. It didn’t work out. Of course, Sean didn’t buy it, but for once, he kept his mouth shut. At least at first. Aaron can’t bring himself to tell his younger brother the truth. 

“Stop asking me that, Sean. Why can’t you just be happy for me for once? The wedding is in two months. What do you think bringing this up now is going to do?” 

“I’m not not happy for you. But I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say you love her, man. I’m not some fancy behavioral expert like you are, but you’re my brother, and I want you to be happy. I want you to make the right choice.” 

“I’m not a behavioral expert, Sean. I’m a profiler. There’s a difference.” _Just when did Sean become so observant?_

“You know what I mean, bro. Semantics.” 

“I love Haley.” _The words come out but it takes more effort than it should._ “I am happy.” Yet he isn’t sure at this point who he’s trying to convince. “And I’m sick of you coming to our house and bringing this up.” 

Sean scoffs, tipping the rest of his beer down his throat. “Not like you were a few years ago. Like that time we went to the bar -” 

“Not again, Sean.” Aaron wishes he could tell his brother to just stop talking. He remembers that night well; things had gone downhill fairly quickly, but of course, Sean doesn’t remember that portion of evening. Even so, Aaron can’t help but wonder just exactly what Sean saw that night, why he can’t just _drop it_. “The wedding is in two months. If you want to be there, great. If you’re not going to be supportive, don’t show up at all.” Aaron tosses his empty beer bottle into the bin, as if signifying the end of the conversation. 

“I’m just saying, Aaron. Don’t do something you’re going to regret.” 

…

**Summer**

The JTF-12 team makes the final preparations for infiltration, because Fahey’s connection agrees to make contact. It’s the closest they’ve gotten to this elusive Valhalla since the beginning. They decide it’s worth the risk to send her under completely, and she’d be lying if she didn’t admit despite the rush she feels, part of her is _terrified_. 

Emily memorizes her cover story down to the last miniscule detail, partly because her life depends on it, and partly because she’s been waiting for almost two years to be someone else, at least if only for a little while. _Lauren Reynolds_. She’s said the name, whispered it, wrote it, studied it until it feels almost like her own. 

A week before she flies to Boston, she calls Allison from a scrambled phone in the privacy of her hotel room in Galway, only because she knows she might not get another chance. It’s been awhile since they talked last; she owes it to her friend. Allison answers on the third ring, sounding harried and strained, and Emily keeps her own voice smooth, even, as to not alarm her _something_ might be off. 

“It’s been forever, Em. Jesus Christ. How are you?” 

“I’m good, Al. Really good. I’ve settled in, I’m really liking my job here. Everything is going better than I thought.” 

“I wish you called more often.” Her friend sounds so far away, and Emily can’t help but close her eyes. “I really miss you.” 

“I know,” Emily attempts feebly, picking at her non-existent fingernails. “I’ve been -”

“I know. You’ve been busy.” Allison lets her off the hook, taking a deep breath.

“Everything is good at home? Shane is good?” 

“Yeah, pretty much the same. He’s been working really closely with your mom. I think he’ll be promoted soon.” 

Emily smiles; she’s happy for him. Shane is such a good guy. Yet she can tell right away there’s something Allison _isn’t_ telling her. Something she shouldn’t know, but needs to anyway. “Allison? What’s wrong?” 

“He’s getting married in a week,” she says quickly, and Emily sinks to the floor; the only reason she doesn’t fall the whole way is because of the wall holding her up. 

“Em? Are you there? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before ...I couldn’t find the right time, and it’s not like I have a phone number I can call whenever, you know.” She waits a minute. “Are you angry?” 

Emily sighs, wishing not for the first time she could give her friend a hug. “No, Al. It’s not your job to keep me updated on his life. It doesn’t matter anymore. 

“I’ve seen him a few times. We’ve had dinner with them once. Shane sees him more than I do, obviously.” 

_Small fucking favors_ , she thinks. Subconsciously, her hand trails to her stomach, and for the first time since she arrived in Europe, she wonders just what the fuck she’s doing, what she’s about to do. 

When she hangs up the phone, she stuffs her actual passport, wallet, and a few other personal items into the box Sean will keep safe for her when she’s gone. Right before she closes it with the combination lock he’d given her, she takes a sheet of paper from the hotel room desk and reaches for the pen, a culmination of the last few years spilling out of her with ease. 

_Dear Aaron,_

_If you’re reading this, then I know you’ve talked to Sean, and you know the truth about everything. It’s too late, but I wanted to say -”_

When she finally puts the pen down, having covered three full pages, the papers are covered in wet splotches, the ink bleeding across in tiny black rivers. 

If she’s lucky, the letter will never see the light of day.

…

**Summer**

Aaron marries Haley on a beautiful day in June - the eighteenth. June 18th, almost a year to the day after he proposes. The sun shines warmly during the day but not oppressively so; when it sets, it’s the _perfect_ summer evening. It’s as picturesque of a day as there could be, the Virginia wine country weather utterly beautiful, every smile is flawless, not a hair is out of place. The only hint that something might be very wrong is the pained expression on Sean’s face as he takes his place at his side. Thankfully, no one else but Aaron seems to notice.

The reception is just as perfect as the ceremony, and for the first time all day, he gets a chance to sit down and enjoy dinner with Haley at his side. She’s glowing; he’s fairly certain she’s been smiling all day; he’s never seen her happier, or look more stunning. She’s a picture-perfect bride, everything about this day is perfect because she planned it in great detail. 

From where he’s seated he has the perfect view of the dance floor. With a bourbon in his hand, Aaron watches Allison and Shane spin together, her red hair floating behind her, shimmering in the light. Even though he’s been pulled in many different directions all day, he’s caught on fairly quickly that Allison has avoided him almost entirely, only giving him a brief hug in the receiving line with a quick _congratulations_ to Haley. She’s there because of Shane, he thinks, and wonders if she’s talked to Emily, given her change of behavior. A lump rises in his throat as one of Haley’s bridesmaids comes over to him, squealing and holding out her hand.

It’s his fucking wedding day. He’s not supposed to be thinking about her. 

“Haley’s about to throw the bouquet, Aaron! Come on! You have to be there!” The girl’s own flowers practically hit him in the face; he coughs as a wave of pollen invades his nose. 

“I’m coming,” he says, forcing a smile and rising to his feet to follow her into the crowd of people. Where are you? He thinks with an upward glance at the sky, and closing his eyes, he lifts the glass to his lips, letting the liquid burn on the way down. Luckily enough, there’s a fresh one in front of him before he even finishes what’s in his hand. 

“Come on, Aaron!” Haley’s friend and bridesmaid - Kelly? Katie? Katelyn? - is waiting for him. “You can’t miss this!” He’s not sure where he’s even going, because Haley is nowhere to be seen amidst the swarm of young women in brightly colored dresses, clamoring over each other to catch the damn flowers.

And he follows, his eyes are still on the darkening treeline in the distance, staring as the last bits of sun drop down. 

Where are you? He thinks again, staring down at the thin gold ring on his left hand, yet he’s not thinking about his wife.

…

**Summer**

Not too far away (yet it feels like halfway across the world), Lauren Reynolds is introduced to Ian Doyle in the back of a smoke-filled bar in Boston aptly named _The Black Shamrock_. It smells like ashtrays and bad decisions, and as she sips whatever is in the glass in front of her, Emily Prentiss is quickly forgotten. Maybe it’s for the better, she thinks as he finally walks in, almost an hour late. 

He’s everything and nothing she ever pictured an international terrorist would be - his accent makes her knees tremble and his eyes are so blue she almost forgets about the fact that at the end of the day, all of this is a giant lie. She’s never seen anyone with eyes like that. She could almost forget Aaron if she tried. Maybe, if she’s lucky. This man is much older than she is, handsome in a dangerous, rugged kind of way, in a well-worn cargo jacket and boots, even in the middle of June.

“This is the guy I told you about.” Fahey makes it sound so casual; it’s clear he’s done this before. 

“He told me everything but a name.” Emily sounds assured, like she knows what she’s doing, and she wonders if he can feel her racing pulse when she extends her hand.

“Ian Doyle. Pleasure.” It’s the way he looks at her, as if he could destroy her and make her feel good while doing it, that sends a chill down her spine. 

“I love being the man bringing people together.” Fahey glances between the two of them, his work clearly done, as both of them are completely ignoring him. “Have fun, kids.” 

Emily’s never been happier to see him leave. 

“And what is it that you do, Lauren?” Ian’s eyes are focused intently on her, as if there’s no one else in the bar besides the two of them. She knows she’s about to pass his test. She says all the right things with just enough emotion to come across as truthful, yet slightly reserved, as if it’s all just part of the game to her. 

“Right now I’m trying to get into business with a former IRA captain. He’s gone freelance, you might have heard of him. Valhalla.” 

Ian’s eyes only sparkle. “Yeah, I might know him.” 

_**There it is.** _

“Well, since this is sensitive,” she murmurs, then switches to French with ease, “it might be better to discuss this _privately_.” She places just enough emphasis on the word, letting this _Ian Doyle_ know she’s willing to do whatever it takes to get the information she needs. 

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” He responds back in French, his accent perfect, his eyes like two deep pools she can’t tear away from. When he looks at her he smiles; she’s seen that smile before. There’s a world of experiences in his eyes she’s only ever seen in movies, a touch sinister, but also, an approval. It’s in that moment she knows she’s successfully infiltrated Ian Doyle’s world, and she’s one step closer to Valhalla himself. 

...

When she leaves the bar on the night of June 18th, two hours after he’d left with the man he’d introduced as Liam, the air is quiet. It’s a strange juxtaposition of whatever feelings she’s numbed herself from since stepping off the plane at Boston-Logan earlier that morning with a completely new identity. She knows what today is - it’s in the back of her mind all day- and she thinks back to her conversation with Allison from a few weeks ago. She walks a bit, stops at a bodega to get some water and then through a park, to make sure she isn’t followed, circling the blocks until she’s certain. And with one more glance at the sky, she takes a deep breath.

_I hope you’re happy_ , she thinks, before pushing him out of her mind _for good_. But even that is a lie she tells herself.‘

…

**Late Summer**

No matter how many times Ian can make her scream his name, there isn’t a time when they’re together that she doesn’t think of him at least once. She curses herself; she’s supposed to have forgotten him by now. _That’s why you’re here in the first place, isn’t it?_ Emily _almost_ slips the third time they find themselves in bed, but she muffles herself with a pillow before it’s too late. Ian doesn’t even notice - he’s too busy kissing his way down her body and between her legs, and when his mouth finds her and she practically unravels right then and there,, it’s not Aaron’s name she screams, thankfully. 

It’s Ian’s. 

His touch feels so foreign; his hands are worn with callouses that scrape against her skin and she half expects it to hurt, but it doesn’t when he finally drags them down her back. The pressure of his fingers is enough to leave bruises in their wake when he grips her hips and pulls her flush against him. He tugs her hair when he kisses her neck, and whispers things in her ear that are enough to make her flush scarlet, and the weight of his body on top of hers is _nothing_ like Aaron’s. He’s rougher, intense in a way she can’t explain, and each time he takes her apart, and then once more, she wonders just how much more of this she can take. 

And afterward, she lays in his arms as the breeze drifts through his massive villa in Tuscany, and she can hear the water hitting the shore in the distance. It’s wrong, she reminds herself yet again as she reaches for the silk robe slung on the bedpost, wrapping it around herself before she goes to cry in the bathroom - a ritual she’s done the last few times they’ve ended up together. It’s wrong, she reminds herself as she smokes a cigarette through the open window, only to leave the bathroom, crawling right back into bed with him. 

But it’s enough to make her forget, at least for a little while. 

...

Another night, about a month later, he surprises her. His head is between her legs yet again - this is _his_ preferred way of making her scream, she’s come to learn very quickly - but his attention is on something else - something she sometimes forgets even exists most of the time. Her thoughts are somewhere between here and there; they have been all day. She just can’t relax tonight.

_Maybe it’s because earlier she’d watched him close a weapons deal, only to turn around and blow the heads right off the two buyers who’d come to them, ready to give whatever Ian asked for. He gives no explanation, only gestures for her to follow him back to the line of waiting cars once his gun has stopped smoking._

_“Leave them,” he’d told Liam, not even taking a second glance at the bodies sprawled on the ground, blood soaking into the concrete. And while she knows this is who he is, she can’t help but look away._

“Lauren.” 

It takes a moment for her to understand that he’s saying her name - _her_ name - yet it still doesn’t quite feel like her name at all. “Lauren.” The lilt of his accent sounds vastly different than the cold menacing tone he’d used earlier that day, the gentle grasp of his hands on her thighs, holding her legs apart, is the opposite of just how tightly he held the gun in his hand before pulling the trigger. It’s hard to believe he’s the same person as the one who brutally killed those people, let alone many more before that, and the many that will come after.

“Hmm?” She glances down the planes of her bare stomach to see his eyes sparkling, glancing up at her from his place at the foot of the bed with an expression that looks dangerously like adoration, maybe infatuation. Either way, it scares her.

“Where were you just now?” For as violent as he can be, how _ruthless_ , he’s the exact opposite in bed, most of the time. He’s an incredibly generous lover, his mission is to bring her pleasure, not pain. It’s never anything less than intense and she gives back what she gets, but when he holds her like this, she wonders just how someone could be responsible for the suffering of so many. And when he pulls her into his arms, as if sensing her hesitancy, she flinches without even realizing it. 

“Nowhere,” she says demurely, batting her eyelashes at him suggestively once she’s nestled within his arms again. “Why did you stop? I was _enjoying_ that.” 

He smiles, and she thinks she might melt right into his bed then and there. “You didn’t answer my question.” Ian brushes her hair from her face, wrapping a possessive arm around her shoulders and his hand drifts to her leg, his fingertips warm against her skin. “I was asking about your tattoo, love. You’ve never told me about it.” 

_The tattoo_. The one on the inside of her leg, close to the crease of where her thigh meets her body, the one she’d gotten on her twenty-first birthday. An arrow, with the delicate lines and fluted tips, a mirror image of the necklace Aaron had gotten her for her twentieth birthday. 

_My father told me once that an arrow symbolizes strength, and always moving forward was what Aaron said that night._

She smiles, and leans in to kiss him on the lips. “It’s just a tattoo, Ian. I’ve had it for years.” She keeps her voice light, her answer simple, to not give away the truth. He’s _incredibly_ astute, there isn’t much she can hide from him. “It symbolizes strength, and moving forward.” 

“Why did you get it? What were you moving from?” Ian rolls her onto her back and rises up, pushing her leg apart to admire the tattoo once again, his thumb tracing the delicate lines in her skin and then further between her legs once again, smiling when her hips lift just enough to show him he’s doing this _exactly_ how she likes it. “I’ve never gotten a tattoo without a good reason.” 

“I was in a darker place” she says honestly before attempting to stifle a moan without any success. She suddenly feels very exposed in his massive bed. _It’s not a total lie, but is this place any better?_

He seems to accept her response, lowering his head once again eagerly and ducking between her legs again. “I’d like to hear about that darker place sometime,” he says with a soft smile, kissing her raised knee. “After I’m done with you.” Emily breathes a sigh of relief that he can’t see the tears that well in her eyes as her legs settle over his shoulders yet again. 

“Sometime,” she agrees, before she breaks apart with a whimper and then a sigh.

…

**Fall**

She turns twenty-two in the middle of Italy, and realizes it’s been a year since all of this began. Except, October 12th _isn’t_ Lauren Reynolds’ birthday, she has to remind herself as they eat breakfast one morning on the balcony of his villa, watching the sun rise higher into the sky. 

“Do you ever think of marriage?” Ian says casually from his place across the table, sipping coffee with one hand, not even looking up from his newspaper. “Spending the rest of your life with someone?” 

“I’m not the marrying type,” she says coyly as she reaches for her own coffee, simply for something to do with her hands. It might be one of the only things she hasn’t lied to him about. “Can you pass that newspaper?” She gives him a small smile and then a wink.

He seems to sense her reticence. “Why, Lauren?” She’s grown to love the way he says her name, the way it sounds on his lips, even if she shouldn’t. “What’s made you so jaded?” 

_You’re supposed to help me forget, Ian. Not make this worse._ She chides him in her own mind, ignoring the tenderness in his voice. _You can’t marry Lauren. Lauren Reynolds doesn’t even exist_. She puts the newspaper down, takes a deep breath before staring at her lap. “I know what the world can do to a girl who only sees the beauty in it.” 

…

**Fall**

They secure another deal, this one in Northern Ireland. This is her doing, having received a shipment from a supplier who is also undercover, working for Interpol, and it’s all been coordinated _perfectly_. She doesn’t have to see his face to know he’s going to be very impressed. This is a _huge_ deal - one that could bring him millions of dollars. With an assured smile, she points to the back of the truck and stands back, watching Ian and Liam inspect the shipment. 

“Open it,” Liam barks, pointing to the huge locker in the back of the truck, and Emily wonders if he’s ever not in a bad mood. 

This one a missile - she’s studied them in great detail, and she knows Ian is pleased when he turns to her with the smallest of smiles. He hasn’t even seen the rest of what’s there - she knows he doesn’t have to. 

“Liam, something bothering you?” 

Liam’s lip curls up in a sneer. “None of our other suppliers can get stuff this good.” 

Her heart starts to pound; a drop of sweat trickles down her back. He doesn’t trust her - he never has, and all it would take is to unravel the right thread and everything would fall apart. 

“She’s too good to be true, and you’re too blind to see it.” 

Ian’s face is stoneless as he looks between them both, clearly torn.“Get in the car, the second one.” Then he turns back to Liam. “I’ll take care of her.” 

Liam nods, taking over the weapons, cursing under his breath. 

As she walks to the backseat of the car, her breath coming too quickly, she wonders _if this is it, if this will be her end_. He follows, the door slamming behind him. 

“You always ride in the second car. Why?” She speaks first, staring straight ahead, unsure of what she’ll find if she actually looks at him. 

“The first car takes the hit in an ambush.” It’s his way of protecting her, she realizes, understanding _why_ she’s there in the first place. 

“Are you going to … take care of me?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

It’s not distrust in his eyes as she expects to see when she finally turns to face him. “Good.” And then she kisses him hard, lush and full, letting him tangle his hands in her hair as she breathes him in. He smells like cologne and cigarettes with a hint of mint; it’s uniquely him and she may never tire of it. _This is part of the job,_ she reminds herself, wishing her body wasn’t already starting to betray her. 

“Hey, hey.” He reaches for her, cupping her face with his hands, his voice so gentle she has to remind herself he’s a _fucking terrorist_. “I need to ask you something.” 

“Mm-hmm?” 

“You never ask me about, you know, about my business. About Valhalla. Why is that?” 

“I just … I just assumed you’ll tell me when you’re ready to tell me.” Of all the things she was expecting today, this isn’t one of them. 

“Well, there is something I want to tell you.” He looks almost nervous, she thinks. From his jacket he pulls the gold ring on the chain- the Gimmel ring. She’s studied them before, yet it’s even more stunning in person. Only when he holds it up does she notice his hand is shaking. 

“I was gonna get you the ring, but, uh, you said you’re not the marrying type.” 

_So he was serious_ , she thinks, remembering their conversation from not long ago. “Oh … it’s - it’s beautiful,” she says with awe, unable to meet his stare. She feels slightly sick, because now this is real, even though _every part_ of it is a giant lie, a lie that will one day fall apart.

“Look at me.” His voice is soft yet commanding. “I am Valhalla.” 

_She should have known._

“I have no idea what kind of life we’re gonna have, but … I just want you in mine.” 

It takes all of her effort to breathe, and even more to hide the pure shock on her face as she wraps her arms around his neck, letting him pull her close. It’s only then does she realize it’s his admission of love, whatever that might be. 

…

**Winter**

When Haley tells him she's pregnant, he’s in the middle of a case in the middle of nowhere in Nebraska, and it catches him so off guard he has to sit down. The timing couldn’t be worse - they’re about to deliver a profile with little to no meaningful information. They have zero credible leads, Gideon is cranky, Reid hasn’t stopped talking all morning, and JJ is trying her best to keep the peace between everyone and the frustrated Lincoln PD without a ton of success. 

Not to mention, there’s a snowstorm coming, and if they don’t apprehend this unsub soon and get the hell out, their trip is about to be extended for a few more days.

“Aaron, I need to talk to you.” It’s the first thing she says when he answers his phone, not even giving him a chance to say hello. 

“Haley, I’m going to need to call you back.” His voice is strained; he’s running on mere hours of sleep. “We’re about to give a -” 

“I’m pregnant, Aaron.” The excitement in her voice is clear through the phone, and she squeals so loudly in his ear he holds the phone away. “I’m pregnant!” 

The room starts to spin, as if it all blends together. Yet, it’s probably the best news he’s heard in _awhile_ , news that maybe he didn’t even know he needed to hear..“You are? That’s great!” For the first time in weeks, he actually feels a rush of something close to excitement, and he turns to avoid the glances from some of the uniformed officers awaiting the BAU’s presentation. “Haley, I had no idea … you never said anything.” He covers his free ear as his face cracks with a smile, listening to the excited shrieks coming from his wife. “When did you find out?” In addition to excitement - there’s something else he wasn’t expecting to feel. Relief. 

“Five minutes ago, Aaron. I was going to wait for you to get home and do something cute like hang balloons or get you a cake or something but I couldn’t wait another 4 days.” 

“How are you feeling?” He decides not to mention the impending weather forecast until he absolutely has to. 

“Just fine,” Haley chirps. “A little tired, really bloated. But I feel just fine. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but I tried to put these jeans on today and they felt tight and I just had a feeling, Aaron.” 

“Have you made a doctor’s appointment?”

“Not yet. Jessica already promised she’d go to all the appointments that you can’t make,” Haley exclaims, and from the corner of his eye, Aaron can see Gideon watching him expectantly. “We’re going to make a list of foods that are good for baby and I’m going to get some prenatal vitamins and -” 

“Haley, I need to go. We’re about to give a profile and they need me to be there,” Aaron says gently, visualizing the smile on his wife’s face melt right off. 

“Okay,” she says after a moment, sounding dejected, but not surprised. “Please promise me when the baby comes, you’ll take some time off.” 

“I promise,” he says before even considering it, because Gideon is still watching him, and he really has to get moving. “I love you,” he says softly before snapping his phone shut. 

He stares at the phone in his hands, barely even hearing Reid’s voice somewhere in the background -clearly Gideon had gotten very impatient - letting him know it’s time to give the profile. 

Maybe this is what it will take, he thinks, to finally let _her_ go. 

…

**Early Spring**

“It’s taking longer than we anticipated,” Clyde says a few weeks later when they’re in the midst of a debrief in the middle of the night. “Doyle isn’t taking the bait. We need to up the ante.” Beside him, Sean is watching her with knowing eyes as Tsia and Jeremy make sense of the small blizzard of evidence documents, surveillance images, and photographs that fill the table in the middle of the cold room - an underground, metal-encased safe room deep within the safe house. She’d almost missed it when she first arrived - it’s an inconspicuous three story house on an idyllic street in Brussels. There are coffee cups everywhere, discarded takeout boxes stacked neatly in the corner with a few abandoned snacks on the table. They’ve been at this for hours; at this point, they’re all desperately in need of a drink, or maybe some sleep. Maybe both. 

“What are you suggesting, Clyde?” Emily mutters from where she’s sitting on the floor, legs stretched out in front of her, a folder on her lap. She doesn’t have to open it; she knows what’s in the photographs. Hell, she was there for all of it. It’s so dangerous for her to even be here in the first place. She’d been able to slip away for a few days, but he’ll be expecting her back soon. “I’ve already _fucked_ him, haven’t I?”

Clyde doesn’t answer her, neither does Sean. Jeremy looks away, and Tsia just plays with the sleeve of her jacket. 

She brings her cigarette to her lips before continuing. “I got us this far. He told me he’s Valhalla. We’re right there. I just need more time to get closer. I can do it, I just need more time.” _She can’t get much closer than she already has._

“Find his weakness.” Sean speaks for the first time in what seems like hours. The whole night has started to blur together, and the morning will come quickly if they don’t pack it in pretty soon. “There’s _something_ we’re not seeing.” He squints at the wall, as if the answer is staring them in the face. “Something that will take him down. You need to get in his head, Emily.”

She tosses her empty cup between her hands, trying to ignore the headache growing between her temples. _I already have_ , she thinks, her fingers tightening on the gold necklace in her jacket pocket. _I already have._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 35 coming soon!


	35. Thirty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I love you, you know that right?” it’s the first time he’s actually said it out loud, but it will almost certainly be the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! First, I’m so glad you are liking the Doyle storyline. I’m not so secretly loving writing Emily/Lauren & Ian. Your response to the last few chapters has absolutely blown me away -the comments on here and the messages on tumblr, the spotify playlist created just for this universe (which is amazing by the way), Wow - I seriously love you all so much. I know 2020 has been hard on us all for so many reasons, and I hope these last few days bring you some joy. Here’s chapter 35. As always, enjoy <3

**Chapter 35: Cruel World**

_ Share my body and my mind with you _

_ That's all over now _

_ Did what I had to do _

_ 'Cause you're so far past me now _

_ Share my body and my life with you _

_ That's way over now _

_ There's not anymore I can do _

_ You're so famous now _

…

**Summer**

A few weeks after they return from Northern Ireland, she starts to notice a young boy with blonde hair popping up almost  _ everywhere _ she goes. He doesn’t say much at first, only watches her curiously from afar, his eyes so blue Emily can almost see her own reflection in them, even from a distance. 

Sometimes she can hear him splashing in the pool - he entertains himself for hours, dashing up the steps to the waterslide again and again until he’s so exhausted, Louise practically has to carry him back to the house. Other days, he rides his bicycle down the long driveway and back up again, doing wheelies, much to Louise’s chagrin. Emily can’t help but stifle a grin as the little boy takes great pleasure in making the housekeeper anxious. It’s surely what she would have done as a kid. 

Despite his raucous presence, he keeps to himself mostly, almost shy in the presence of most adults. Ian mentions him as Louise’s son from a prior relationship, and that he’ll be living at the villa from now on. He’s strangely guarded about it, doesn’t elaborate, and Emily knows well enough by now not to ask him many questions.

**...**

One evening a few weeks after that, when the sun has gone down but the sky is still light, she’s sitting on one of the balconies on the third floor of the villa with a glass of Montepulciano in one hand and a cigarette in the other. 

She stares up at the darkening sky like she often does at night, and something catches her eye. From where she’s sitting, she sees Ian leaning over the railing of one of the second floor balconies, hands curled around the top, his eyes locked on the boy in the distance as he cannonballs into the pool, squealing with joy each time he launches into the air. He clearly is unaware of the fact she can see him perfectly.

The look on Ian’s face is haunting and yet she can’t look away. He’s intensely watching Declan; he never takes his eyes off of him. A brief smile ghosts his face here and there, coupled with an unconditional pride that, given the circumstances, seems misplaced. She’s transfixed by him; it’s as if  _ he _ is finally at peace. With what, she isn’t sure; seeing him this way feels almost intrusive. 

A few more long moments pass until she realises he’s staring directly at her now, their eyes locked in an intense, yet completely void of passion, stare. It’s like she’s been caught red handed, as if she found something she shouldn’t. Startled, she gives a slight wave and a small smile, relieved when he does the same before turning away from the railing and disappearing into the shadows.

Emily downs the rest of her wine in a long gulp, closing her eyes.  _ What is he hiding, and more importantly, why?  _

...

The blonde boy appears in the living room when she’s curled up on the overstuffed couch, her legs tucked beneath her, reading one of Ian’s  _ many _ books that line the shelves. It’s a rare afternoon off for them both, yet it seems as though Ian is never truly  _ off _ from his work _.  _ “I have a few calls to make,” he’d told her earlier that day, kissing the top of her head gently. “I need to make arrangements with Liam for next week. When I’m done, I want to take you down to the wine cellar. I have something I want to show you.” He sounds so at ease with all of it she just smiles and strokes the side of his face with her hand. It’s better if she  _ doesn’t  _ ask questions. 

That was  _ hours ago _ , but she lost track of time pretty quickly. She’s immersed in the book, completely unaware of anything or anyone around her, until all of a sudden she looks up, the boy - Louise’s son - mere inches from her face. 

“What the fuck!” She nearly jumps right off the couch, clapping a hand over her mouth when she realizes she just swore in front of a kid who can’t be more than six years old.  _ Shit.  _

“You just said the f word!” Yet, he doesn’t look shocked, much to her relief.

“I uh - “ Emily tosses the book to the side, glancing around nervously to see if someone is in earshot, or if anyone is even watching this kid.  _ Where the hell is Louise _ ? “Sorry,” she mumbles. “Can I … help you?” It’s the way he’s staring at her, completely innocently yet expectantly, like he’s seen this before, as if she isn’t the first brunette woman to take up space there.

“My name is Declan,” he tells her in the bold, precocious way only a child his age could be. “I’m six.” To prove his point, he holds up six fingers, and counts them just to be sure. “What’s your name?” 

“I’m Lauren,” she tells him, glancing back down to her book, wondering just  _ what _ to say to this child who is clearly well acquainted with the house that is not even close to being somewhat childproof. Declan picks up an expensive marble vase on the coffee table only to set it back down with a clatter, completely unaffected by the fact it could have shattered everywhere. He jumps on the furniture, practically stepping right over her lap with his shoes.

“Hey - I don’t know if you’re supposed to -” She grimaces at the sight of her linen pants that are now stained with a dirty footprint.

“Do you live here too now?” He’s jumping from couch to couch, each time he lands on the one she’s sitting on, her stomach does a flip. “Do you like to play checkers? I want to play checkers. Can you play checkers with me?” 

“What are you -” Emily can barely keep up with him. He moves a mile a minute, his blonde curls perpetually falling in his eyes. Despite his persistence, there’s something endearing about him. She doesn’t want to think about what Louise might say when she sees what he’s gotten himself into. 

“Do you know how to swim?” Now he’s walking on the arm rest of the sofa on one foot with the precision of an acrobat. “I do some really good cannonballs. Want to see one?” 

Her mind is spinning at the stream of questions that seem to pour right from him with no end in sight and not even a trace of exhaustion. Emily wishes she could tell this kid - Declan - to stop jumping on the couches. Yet something holds her back, because whoever  _ he _ is, she has a feeling there’s a reason why he’s there.  _ Do I live here?  _ She ponders his question, her head starting to spin, because now he’s running in circles around the living room.  _ Is this my home?  _ She’s never considered  _ that _ question before. 

“I see you’ve met Declan.” Ian’s voice comes from nowhere right behind her, and both of them whirl around to face him as Declan pops off the couch, trying to hide behind her. 

“We were just getting acquainted,” Emily says, relieved that she’s not the only one with this kid now. A quick glance in his direction tells her everything she needs to know about how Declan feels about Ian. The little boy is watching him with wide, admiring eyes, a shy smile on his face, as if looking for approval. It’s clear he  _ adores _ him. 

“Is that so?” Ian doesn’t look angry, but he doesn’t look happy either. He looks almost despondent, as if he needs to share a truth but can’t find the words.

“I’m sorry,” Declan mumbles, stomping his feet and not looking very sorry at all.

“Declan, what did we talk about the last time I found you like this?” 

“Not to jump on the furniture,” the boy grumbles, looking forlorn. “But I’m bored.” 

For a brief moment, Emily feels sympathy for him. From what she’s seen since arriving in Tuscany, the villa is semi-secluded; the closest town is at least a mile.  _ There probably aren’t many kids his age around here to play with, _ she thinks. She can’t help but think of herself, just a few years older than him, moving from country to country each time her mother’s posting changed.  _ It’s no way for a kid to grow up _ , she thinks.  _ Isolated and alone. It starts to fuck with you after long enough.  _

“You have a swimming pool, a basketball court, a movie theatre, and rooms full of toys. You have  _ everything _ you could possibly want. There’s no reason to climb on the furniture.” 

Emily can’t help but smile at the formidable, intimidating, former IRA captain Ian Doyle gently telling this boy he shouldn’t be climbing on furniture. 

“I just wanted someone to play with me.” He kicks the ground with his shoe stubbornly, shoulders sagging. “I always have to play by myself.” 

“I told you I had to make a few calls, didn’t I?” Ian explains patiently, and Emily doesn’t think she’s ever heard him sound like this. “I told you if I finished before dinner, then we could.” 

Declan doesn’t even try to hide the disappointment on his face. “That’s what you always say.” 

Ian opens his mouth to speak, but Emily is faster. 

“I’ll play with you,” she offers before she can stop herself, pushing the book to the side and rising from the couch. “I’m pretty good at checkers.” 

“I don’t want to play checkers anymore,” he says, his eyes lighting up with joy. He reaches for her hand, as if he’s been doing it all his life, completely trusting. She’s tempted to yank it away; he shouldn’t trust her at all.  _ This is all a lie, she wants to say _ . “I want to show you my cannonballs! Let’s go swimming!” 

Before she can attempt to argue, he’s already pulling her along behind him. With a quick glance back at Ian, she smiles, and when she meets his eyes, he smiles back. The look on his face nearly chills her to the core - the content, subtle nod of his head, satisfied yet calculating, as if he just found a single missing piece of a puzzle that’s been missing all along. 

…

**Summer**

Haley has a  _ textbook _ pregnancy without any complications, and hardly  _ any _ symptoms at that. In fact, it goes so smoothly Aaron can’t help but wonder just  _ how _ she got so lucky. 

She’d started to show at the end of the first trimester, with the perfect bump under her shirt that she flaunts whenever they go out. He’s gone to every doctor’s appointment he can, keeps a picture of the ultrasound in his wallet and pulls it out on flights home when everyone else is fast asleep. They shop for baby gear with unabashed inexperience, laugh over Haley’s swollen ankles and the fact that she can’t tie her shoes anymore. Soon, a ridiculous amount of purchases start to litter their charming home, and more arrive every day. He wonders just what the  _ hell _ they’re going to do with all of this  _ stuff.  _

Her happiness is genuine; he can’t ignore just how content Haley is. Pregnancy suits her well; she makes it look impossibly easy.  _ She’s always wanted this. Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be after all.  _

When the second trimester suddenly becomes the third and their baby’s due date becomes more and more of a reality, Aaron can’t help but remember the  _ other _ baby - the one he never knew about until it was too late. At first it’s a passing thought here and there, but it becomes all consuming, and soon enough he can barely look at his pregnant wife without thinking of  _ him _ **.** _ He’d be walking by now, no doubt,  _ Aaron muses again one night as they’re watching a movie, with Haley devouring a bowl of ice cream at his side, spilling sprinkles all over her lap and his too. Her feet are propped up, the bowl perched on her swollen belly, and Aaron’s throat tightens at the unfairness of it all. 

_ Why does it happen so easily for some, without a hitch, while others never even get the chance? It’s a cruel twist of fate, one that may never be understood, but accepted, because what other choice is there?  _

“Aaron?” 

He realizes Haley is talking to him, her bowl of ice cream gone. She’s yawning and adjusting her position on the couch, practically jabbing him in the side with her elbow. “I must have dozed off for a minute,” he says quickly, helping her sit up while adjusting the pregnancy pillow on her other side. 

“I was thinking about names again,” she contemplates. “I still don’t know. I know we narrowed it down to six, but I keep changing my mind. And then I start thinking about  _ middle _ names and I just can’t decide. There are so many options”

“We still have time.” Aaron rests his arm around her shoulders, thinking of the names they were currently debating. He tries to remember them all in alphabetical order, to distract his mind from the thoughts that are never too far away, the ones that come back almost every night when he tries to fall asleep. “We’ll figure it out.” 

“I know we have time, Aaron.” Haley snuggles into him, her head resting on his shoulder. “But I want him to come into the world with a name. I don't want it to be an afterthought. I want it to be perfect.”

He’s silent for a few moments, unable to gather the words to form an eloquent response. Luckily he doesn’t have to, because Haley has fallen sound asleep on his shoulder. He doesn’t have the heart to move her; he’ll carry her to bed soon. This isn’t the first time this has happened. 

Aaron looks around their house - the idyllic little house they’d purchased shortly after the wedding - and takes it all in. From the outside, everything  _ is _ perfect, but as he’s come to learn, appearances are deceiving. It’s tastefully decorated, wedding photographs on the walls, everything neatly in its place. It’s the perfect life; he knows  _ many _ would only dream of having what’s in front of him. He isn’t unhappy, he’s not  _ happy _ either, but there’s  _ nothing _ to fix any of this. He covers Haley with a blanket and shoves a pillow under his own head, closing his eyes, even though he knows sleep won’t come for a while. He rests his hand on Haley’s swollen belly, yet his mind is on  _ the other baby _ he’ll never have a chance to know. 

_ Perfection is so overrated, anyway _ . 

…

**Fall**

“7, 8, 9, 10! Ready or not, here I come!” 

She pulls her hands away from her eyes, only to spot Declan on the floor almost immediately, waiting for her. “I’m gonna get you!” She crawls after him in a mock chase, his giggles and squeaks of happiness punctuating the air as she finally wraps her arms around him in a big hug, pulling him to her chest. When he hugs back like he means it, a part of her heart twists, and she wonders if she’ll ever be able to do this again. “I’m gonna get you!” 

Ian seemingly appears out of nowhere, wearing a shirt that makes his eyes look even more blue if that’s humanly possible. He’s smiling brightly -  _ such a rare occurrence _ \- with the same look of pride she saw on his face the night on the balcony. He looks so calm, so happy, and she wonders if there’s something he  _ isn’t _ telling her.

“Louise, come take your boy please.” 

The housekeeper only gives a slight nod as she hurries into the room, and without as much as a word, ushers Declan away to give them a private moment. 

Emily smiles bashfully, slightly embarrassed that he just caught her playing hide and seek like a child in the middle of the ornate living room on her hands and knees. Blushing, she shrugs her shoulders, waiting for him to speak first.

“You ever think about that?” 

“Having kids? Be a little hard with what we do, don’t you think?” Despite how calm she sounds and how at ease she comes across, she starts to feel  _ sick _ . There’s something soberingly honest in his voice that she can’t decipher. He has  _ no _ idea about just how much she  _ has  _ thought about  _ that _ . And of course, not a clue that for a brief, fleeting moment, it was her reality.  _ Not anymore. _

“Maybe you need the right man to do it with.” 

_The right man, if he even exists, won’t make a fucking difference,_ Emily thinks _. She remembers the day she spent in her doctor’s office a few years ago, learning exactly what it is that renders her essentially broken, like damaged goods or something._ _There’s a name for it, some syndrome or something like that, she remembers with a thick swallow. But it doesn’t matter what it is, or what it’s named. It won’t change the outcome._

“And a son who’s crazy about you.” 

_ What is he saying? Is he saying that ...  _ “I … I thought .. He was your housekeeper’s.” 

_ Declan is his. It hits her like a ton of bricks. This is what he’s been hiding all along. It makes perfect sense - the secrecy, his reticence, the look in his eyes when she caught him on the balcony and the same one from moments before. The fact that he hardly acknowledges the poor boy, yet won’t let him out of his sight. It all makes sense.  _

_ Maybe he isn’t invincible as they all thought.  _

“Louise raises Declan so no one can use him against me. But he’s mine. And he needs a mother.” 

_ I’m not supposed to be a mother, Ian. Don't you know?.  _ “I can’t do that. Not here.”  _ If you knew I couldn’t ever be a mother the way I’m supposed to be, would you even be asking this question? Would I even still be here at all? Or would you toss me aside like the others that have come before me? She knows they exist; she’s seen the photographs in his file.  _

“Then I’ll get you out.” 

_ It’s not that she doesn’t believe him. In fact, she believes him with all of her heart. But at what price?  _

“Or .. I could get you out. I have resources. Contacts. He would be safer. And he’d have a father.”  _ She only half believes the words she’s saying. Resources and contacts, yes. But safer? Would the son of a terrorist with connections and enemies all over the world, a player in an endless, dangerous game, ever truly be safe?  _

Ian looks solemn. “You know what I am, Lauren. A warrior. 

_ And a murderer. _

“I lead warriors. I raise warriors. I can’t just leave.” 

_ No, Ian. You never could _ . “You want me to raise your son, so he can have your life?” 

_ That’s what he wants from all of this. This is his endgame. This isn’t about Lauren Reynolds the arms dealer anymore. It’s something entirely different. It’s about a family, a sense of normalcy, albeit a fucked up one. Something that can never be, yet something he’s clearly planned in his own mind in great detail. He weighed the odds, decided this was worth the risk.  _

“Is it that bad a life?” 

_ He sounds quietly desperate, longing almost, as if he half expects her to run. She wouldn’t - she can’t - but she wants to.  _

“There are so many things I would do to make you happy. But … I can’t do this.” Emily leans down to Declan, ruffling his hair comfortingly. “Go to your father.” 

He does, pressing his small body against Ian’s leg, glancing at them both adoringly.

Looking at them takes her breath away and she has to turn around to breathe. She reaches for the ring around her neck, rolling it between her fingers as it  _ all _ finally makes sense.

This is it. This is the beginning of an end. 

...

After dinner, they sit on one of the huge patios overlooking the water, a bottle of wine between them and their fingers laced together. The sun is going down; the breeze is cool. He’d been distracted all afternoon, and at dinner, he barely paid attention to Declan’s excited chatter. It had taken the little boy no less than three tries to even get a response from his father.

“Are you angry with me? About earlier?” Ian breaks their silence first, finishing his half-full glass of wine in one long sip. 

“Earlier?” She acts aloof; she can’t let him know  _ any _ of this is still in her mind. Emily makes a big show of stretching in the chair, doing her best to appear content and at ease. She’s anything but, yet she doesn’t show it. She’s too good at this by now. 

“About Declan,” he begins, squeezing her hand. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot the way I did.” 

“I’m not angry, Ian.” She squeezes back but it doesn’t feel convincing. “It took me by surprise, but I’m not angry.” 

“I’m sorry I never told you the truth about Declan. I’ve wanted to for a long time. I didn’t want to lie to you anymore, Lauren.” 

_ There are so many lies being told here, Ian. One more won’t hurt. “ _ You did what you had to do to keep him safe. It’s what any father would do.” 

“You’re so good with him.” Ian reaches over to brush some of the hair out of her face with more tenderness than she anticipated. “It comes naturally to you. He adores you. Sometimes when I watch you together, I think about what we could be.” 

_ We can’t be anything, Ian.  _ “I never knew you wanted that life.” 

“I didn’t either,” he says honestly, staring at his hands. “For the longest time, I didn’t. Things didn’t work out with his mother, obviously.” 

His brutal honesty and vulnerability nearly chills her, taking the air right out of her lungs.

“Ian,” she begins, her voice already shaking. 

“I want that life with you, Lauren. I want  _ you _ to be part of  _ us. _ Our family.” 

“Ian,” she tries again, the cracks in her voice becoming fissures, until she can’t help but burst into tears. 

“What is it?” He looks shocked at her sudden outburst of emotion, as if unsure how to soothe her, and for a moment, he just waits as she buries her face in her hands and cries. “Lauren,” Ian says. “Lauren love, talk to me.” 

“I can’t have children.” Emily breaks, her lip trembling as everything in her mind starts to blur together, the tears starting to fall faster than she can control them. Her grief is real, even though it's all part of the plan.  _ Showing weakness isn’t part of this, she thinks as the sobs continue, completely unchecked. Vulnerability doesn’t lend itself well to this line of work. Clyde and Sean have told her that over and over. Yet, it might just be the thing that makes him human, what might just make him slip. _

“What are you saying, love?” He’s reaching for her wrists, gingerly pinning her hands down so she has to look at him. 

“They told me … um. They told me it was … there’s something wrong with my -” she can’t bring herself to continue - she’s already told him  _ too _ much, yet it seemingly does the job, because the look on his face is  _ exactly  _ what she hoped to find. The only issue is, the pain she feels is  _ just _ as real as what’s brewing on his face in the moment. 

He looks floored, confused, yet he reaches for her and pulls her into his arms. “ _ Lauren.”  _ He cradles her against him, reverently, dropping kisses on her temple and her forehead and anywhere else he can reach, as he rubs her back. “It’s alright. Stop crying, love.” From his pocket he pulls a few tissues, handing them to her. “Wipe your eyes.”

“I’m getting your shirt all wet,” she chokes, only half kidding. Sure enough, there are streaks of makeup all over the pristine white button down he’s wearing. 

“It’s just a shirt.” His arms are protective, as if he’s shielding her from whatever pain she’s  _ finally  _ acknowledging. “I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t know.” 

_ Of course you wouldn’t.  _ It’s the first time she’s ever admitted it out loud, let alone shared them with someone else. It all feels so strange to share such an intimate secret with  _ him _ , yet in a sense, she’s almost  _ glad _ he’s the one to see her finally break down. There’s an anonymity to it, something comforting about the fact no one else will ever know her secret. “I’m so, so sorry.” He’s rocking her in his arms, murmuring to her, his own voice thick. “I had no idea.” 

Only when she pulls away does she see he’s crying too. 

Through every last bit of her own unbridled pain, the only thing she can see is  _ his _ own pain matching hers, and it dawns on her.

_ This _ is his weakness.  _ This  _ is what will take him down. 

It only took revealing the one thing she swore would never break her. With a hidden grimace, she can’t help but remember Sean’s words.  _ This life starts to  _ own you.

He was right.

… 

Later that night - much later - when everyone in the villa is sound asleep, she slips out from under Ian’s arm that rests protectively around her back. He’s hardly let her out of his sight since earlier, not that she’s surprised at all. She tiptoes in the dark to the left, past Declan’s closed door, down the long hallway into the room that is technically  _ hers _ , even though she hasn’t spent a single night there since arriving. Her suitcase is tucked neatly under the bed along with a few other personal items spread across the dresser. She kneels down and pulls the suitcase out just enough. 

Stitched into the liner is a small zipper that reveals the small, hidden compartment, secured with a keypad. Of course no one else knows it exists - they can’t ever know - and when it opens, she digs for the scrambled phone that stays hidden in there at all times. There’s a number she can call - she’s never had to before, thankfully - if she’s ever in trouble, or needs one of them  _ immediately _ . 

She knows the number by heart, dialing as quickly as her trembling fingers will move. 

She says a silent prayer Ian won’t come looking for her.  _ If _ he were to stumble upon her like  _ this _ , it would all be over. He’s a light sleeper; years of looking over his shoulder have gotten him to that point, and every now and then he wakes up in the middle of a night terror, drenched in cold sweat, panting, his eyes a mix of uncontrollable anger and something she recognizes as fear. It’s happened before, and  _ that _ time was terrifying enough. 

....

_ The first time it happened, almost a year ago, he woke up in a sweaty, tangled mess, moaning and uttering something that sounds like a plea - none of it makes sense but the sight is terrifying - he’s clearly in distress, and before she thinks twice, she’s saying his name, trying to calm him down with gentle hands and a soothing voice. “Ian,” she says softly. “Ian, it’s Lauren. Wake up, it’s just a nightmare.” _

_ His eyes slam open and meet hers, the distress all consuming and absolutely terrifying. She recoils, attempts to back away, realizing the terrible mistake she made.  _

_ Except he’s too fast, his eyes flashing with fear as he lunges toward her, his strength overpowering her. It’s only a few seconds until his hand is wrapped around her neck. A well-timed squeeze would be all it takes for her to lose consciousness, or worse. He’s pinning her down, his knee pressed into her thigh and the other hand gripping her wrists above her head. His body is unforgiving, the look in his eyes one she’ll never forget.  _

_ This is how it’ll end _ ,  _ she thinks, everything starting to go black as she fights against him with all of her strength, but even that is starting to dissipate thanks to the lack of oxygen _ .  _ They might never even find me here. Hell, he’d probably get rid of me before - It all goes blank for a moment, until suddenly the vice like grip around her neck loosens, and he’s pulling her into his arms.  _

_ It sounds like he’s yelling her name, yet she can’t hear him, but what she is aware of is the fact that he’s entirely too close, his hands grabbing at her frantically, as if he’s trying to make sure she’s still alive. It’s too much - it’s like being suffocated all over again, and she screams even though it burns her lungs and starts shaking and crying, rocking back and forth.  _

_ “Get away from me,” Emily i _ s  _ gasping for air, gagging, coughing violently, pushing him away with what little strength she has, and the one name that comes to her lips is one she can never utter out loud, at least not while she’s here. It’s a terrible flashback to a few years ago, a night she has never forgotten. There are tears streaming down her face and she still can’t settle her breathing. There’s not enough air, the covers are twisted around her arms and legs, she’s sweating and shaking, the room starting to spin.  _

_ “Lauren, I - “ Ian is standing in the corner, his face full of worry and guilt, for once looking completely defeated. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was happening.” He paces back and forth, moving closer and taking steps back, clearly at a loss of what to do.  _

_ That’s not my  _ **_fucking_ ** _ name, she wants to scream, but of course she doesn’t, and she still can’t take a full deep breath, so talking is out of the question.  _

_ “I can call a doctor.” He’s reaching for the phone next to his bed but she shakes her head, holding up her hand to prevent him from coming any closer. “Do you need a doctor? A hospital? What do you need, love?”  _

_ “Please get away, Ian. I can’t - just please get away from me,” she sobs, rocking back and forth with her legs pulled to her chin. “Please don’t touch me.”  _

_ Someone has clearly overheard them, because there’s pounding on the door, and it swings open to reveal Louise, wearing a robe and an expression that tells Emily everything she needs to know. Clearly she’s witnessed this before. “What’s going on?” She demands, not even looking a bit surprised when she sees what’s happening - Ian in the corner of the room, the bed a mess, a hysterical Emily shaking and sobbing.  _

_ Ian takes a step back to let her in then shuts the door firmly, and Louise doesn’t even acknowledge him as she rushes toward Emily. “It’s all right,” she soothes, helping Emily swing her legs over the edge of the bed. “Put your head between your knees and breathe. Just like that,” she encourages her gently, patting her back. “It’ll feel better soon.”  _

_ Emily obeys her, the throbbing in her head and the burning in her lungs starting to fade as her breathing returns to normal and the tears start to subside, leaving her with nothing but a headache and a stuffy nose.  _

_ “I’m so sorry, Lauren.” Ian paces the floor, dragging his hand across his jaw, his face lined with regret. “I … they come sometimes. I’ve had them ever since I was young.”  _

_ She doesn’t have the strength to respond. Instead, she keeps her eyes on her knees and focuses on pulling air into her lungs, one breath at a time.  _

_ “Are you sure you don’t need a doctor? I truly never meant to hurt you.” He takes a cautionary step towards her, and Emily can’t help but shy away. His face falls; she pretends not to notice. _

_ Even though she can clearly hear every word, Louise doesn’t interfere. She bustles about the room, getting a cold towel for Emily’s forehead and fresh sheets for the bed.  _

_ “It’s not your fault,” is what Lauren Reynolds finally says, because she has a cover to maintain, her head to keep. Emily Prentiss would have thrown him off of her, and made a run for the door, as she did several summers ago in a vastly different, but no less terrifying, situation. But she’s not Emily Prentiss anymore. “You couldn’t have helped it.”  _

_ “I’ll sleep in one of the guest rooms. You need to get some rest.” Ian is already reaching for his robe, shouldering it across his body and tying the belt with a little too much force for her liking.  _

_ “Don’t be ridiculous,” she croaks weakly as Louise gets her a glass of water. Lauren Reynolds can’t hold this against him, she reminds herself. Lauren Reynolds has to pretend she’s seen worse, done worse, endured worse. This is nothing compared to what he’s capable of; they both know it. _

_ And when they’re finally alone again, she lets him curl his body around hers and wrap his arm around her waist, because it’s what Lauren Reynolds would do. _

_ …. _

She shudders at the memory, willing herself to push it out of her mind as she presses the phone to her ear. She knows this number by heart, dialing as quickly as her trembling fingers will move. 

Clyde answers on the first ring, and Emily wonders if that means Sean is drinking alone tonight, with nothing but his own demons for company. “What is it, darling? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you for awhile.” 

“Clyde. I don’t have time to explain. We need to meet. Just the three of us. I think I’ve got something. Something you need to know.” 

He knows exactly why she’s calling, and he doesn’t ask any questions. “When?” 

“Soon,” Emily whispers before switching the phone off. 

…

**Fall**

“It’s a boy!” The doctor exclaims, holding up the wailing baby.  _ His son _ . From his position at Haley’s head, Aaron can tell he’s the perfect shade of pink with a full head of hair, with  _ extremely _ healthy lungs. “Congratulations!” 

An exhausted Haley dissolves into happy tears, and when his son is placed into his wife’s arms, wrapped in a blue blanket, Aaron kisses her and can’t help but start to cry too.  _ Their lives will never be the same _ , he thinks, staring at his son proudly. 

“He’s perfect,” Haley weeps, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, cradling the baby in her arms. “Isn’t he perfect?” 

“He is,” Aaron murmurs, running his finger over their son’s soft cheek. They still haven’t agreed on a name, much to Haley’s disappointment. In fact, that’d been the first thing she said in the car on their way to the hospital. The second of course being if he’d remembered the camera. 

“He looks like a Jack,” Aaron observes as he studies his son’s squished face. “What do you think about Jack?” 

“Jack?” Haley shakes her head. “That wasn’t even on the list.” 

“I know,” Aaron shrugs. “But … I heard it the other day and it stuck.” He’s tempted to gently explain their lives aren’t based on lists and appearances, but that’s a conversation for a different day.

“Jack,” Haley repeats, staring down at him. “He kind of looks like a Jack, I guess.” She glances at Aaron, then back at her son. “I don’t hate Jack,” she says quietly. “I like it.” 

“Jack it is.” 

**...**

**Fall**

“Well I’ll be damned.” Sean is the one who speaks first after Emily fills them in on Doyle’s secret. “So what you’re saying is this kid is his?” He looks tired, as if he’s aged  _ years _ since their first meeting three years ago. She can’t help but wonder if he’s been drinking too much lately. 

“He told me himself.” Emily stuffs her hands in her pockets so neither of them can see just how badly she’s shaking, and it’s not because she’s cold, even though it’s  _ freezing _ in this damn house. The only thing she  _ hasn’t _ shared with them is what she’d told Ian later that day, the one thing she’ll never bring herself to say. “He tells everyone the boy belongs to his housekeeper.” 

“He’s not stupid, that’s for sure. He knows what could happen if this fell into the wrong hands. Does this child have a mother?” Clyde muses from where he’s leaning against the wall. “I’m not talking about the housekeeper.”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet.” 

“How did you get  _ this _ out of him?” Sean seems to sense there’s something she’s not telling them. “What made him finally come clean?” 

“I played his game.” Emily turns her back to them both, facing away from the cork board that is now littered with photographs, evidence, surveillance footage, potential targets, suspects. All the pieces to the puzzle that soon enough will connect like a game. A game with no winner, only losers. “He’s … shockingly human.” 

“When he’s not killing people,” Clyde snaps with a sneer. The exhaustion is evident on his face - they’ve all been at this for a  _ long _ time. But it isn't over yet. “Where does this take us? What do we do from here?” 

“We keep going.” Emily says evenly, as if assuring them all. “But this is exactly what we need to get into his head, take his guard down. We just have to wait it out and wait for him to break.” 

“Look how far you’ve come, darling.” Clyde regards her visibly impressed, yet she doesn’t feel any form of pride.

None at all. 

…

**Winter**

“Aaron, wake up,” Haley says one night - or maybe it’s morning - when they’re both roused awake by the sound of Jack’s wailing cries from the crib next to her side of the bed. Aaron groans and glances at the alarm clock on the nightstand - he’d gotten home less than three hours ago. Their case in Gettysburg had taken an extra  _ two _ days, and Haley barely said more than three words to him before storming off to bed. 

“I just got home, Haley. Can you take him this once? I  _ promise _ I’ll take both morning feeds.” 

“This once? I do this  _ every _ night you’re gone, Aaron. You  _ promised _ you’d take time off when he was born. I can’t  _ always _ do this myself, you know.” 

“I did, Haley.” Aaron rubs at his eyes, trying to ease some of the relentless fatigue  _ and _ some of the guilt he’s felt since walking in the door that night. “I took four weeks off, and that was generous of them. I can’t control when people start  _ killing _ other people.” 

“That was  _ months ago _ , Aaron. He’s a  _ baby _ . I  _ need _ help. The house is a mess, I haven’t seen anyone except my sister in  _ weeks _ . You’re his  _ father _ . You need to be here with him. With us.” 

“One of us needs to make money, you know.”

“Gideon would have given you more time.” 

“Gideon doesn’t make those decisions. We’ve been  _ over _ this, Haley.” When he opens his eyes, his wife is standing in front of him, their son in her arms.

“We need to figure something out. Talk to the person who  _ can _ make those decisions, why don’t you?” 

“It’ll get better, Haley. It’s the fourth month sleep regression. You heard the pediatrician. A lot of babies go through this.” Aaron tries to placate her, but she’s having no parts of it. 

“Jessica is watching him this weekend while we’re at Allison and Shane’s wedding. After that, we are sitting down and we are figuring out a schedule and an end to this  _ insanity.  _ Something has to give, Aaron. I’m not living my life like this.” And with that, she spins on her heel, taking a screaming Jack with her, leaving him in the middle of their bed in the dark. 

_ This wasn’t supposed to be like this _ . 

…

**Winter**

“I’m sorry for making you come all the way here,” Sean says in perfect Arabic **,** the weight of his words thick in the air as she nearly collapses onto the bench across from his, exhausted and worn out. He glances around, looking for anyone who might be listening to their conversation. He looks concerned, a touch guilty. “How was your trip?” 

“Fine,” she says warily, also in Arabic, staring out at the water just a few feet from the bench, as if she’s trying to remind herself of the very same thing. “Can you get to the point? I don’t have much time.” She’d been able to get away for only a little bit; Ian and Liam had taken a trip to Rome for the day, something about the possibility of bringing on a new associate. She’d only been half listening when he told her; her own trip was at the forefront of her mind. And yet here she is, hours away from the villa in Tuscany, a clandestine meeting in the middle of a cold beach town. 

“Why am I here, Sean?” There’s no reason why she needs to be. Things have been relatively quiet; right now they’re biding time, waiting it out, giving the impression that all is  _ well _ . They’re doing a damn good job; Doyle doesn’t suspect a thing. In fact, he’s secured a few more deals that will go down over the next few months - arsenals of weapons to be sold for millions of dollars. Each of those deals is a chance to trace his network even further; it only helps JTF-12 increase their chances of taking him down. It’s also incredibly dangerous, as she reminds herself often. 

Even so, the last few years of this has made her skilled and calculated, yet she  _ knows _ just how much of a risk it is for her to meet him here. Ian has eyes everywhere, and she knows not  _ all _ of his men trust her, even after all this time. “You scared me half to death. How am I going to explain this later on if Ian asks where I was?” 

“As if you’ve forgotten,  _ you’re _ the world-class arms dealer, remember? I think you’ll find a way to be convincing.” He leans back, reaches for a cigarette and offers her one. “We’ve got that covered. We’ll brief you about it before you leave. How are you? You look tired.” 

“You pulled me out again to make small talk and tell me I look tired? Are you  _ trying _ to piss me off now?” She reaches for the cigarette anyway, letting him light it for her before taking a long drag.

“Of course not.”

“Then tell me why the  _ fuck _ I’m here.” She takes her hood down from her head, revealing the chestnut-brown waves she’s worn since going undercover two years ago. 

“Do you ever miss him?” 

“Who, Sean?” 

“Aaron. Surely you haven’t forgotten him.” 

Emily stills; she’s never uttered his name since she’s been under.  _ She certainly hasn’t forgotten, though _ . “How did you … his name?” 

“I’m a pretty resourceful man, Emily.” Sean says, blowing a ring of smoke into the air. “I know how to find answers to my questions. If I don’t get them from the source, I look elsewhere.” 

“Sean,” she begins, with more patience than she feels. “I know you didn’t bring me here to talk about Aaron.” 

“You’re right,” he says, lighting another cigarette. “That’s not the only reason. But answer my question first.” 

She’s silent, and it seems to be enough for him. 

“There’s my answer.” His tone isn’t harsh, in fact, it’s the opposite. His face softens at the sight of Emily’s worn out expression. “Now my next question. Do you want out?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I can have you out in a week. Interpol wants to close in on Doyle sooner rather than later.” He thumbs his chin. “Apparently JTF-12 is taking up a substantial chunk of their budget. We’ve become too high a price, apparently.” He laughs, almost sounding the slightest bit amused.

“We don’t have enough intel to do that yet, Sean.” Emily shakes her head, wishing she hadn’t agreed to this meeting in the first place.  _ They do actually, thanks to her. If they want to really put Doyle away for a while, there’s plenty stacked against him, not to mention the one secret that could tear his entire world apart in a blink of an eye. All she needs is to say the word. Yet, there’s part of her that isn’t sure she even  _ wants _ that to happen. To leave now would be to leave this life behind, back to the one she tried so hard to run from.  _

“I’m sure we could find  _ something _ . You  _ know _ him better than any of us now. Tell us what else we’re missing.” Sean gives her a knowing look. He’s no stranger to the lengths she’s gone for this job, what she’s sacrificed. He knows her too well.

“I have nothing else to give you right now, Sean. I wish I did.” She gets up from the bench, but Sean grabs her arm, pulling her back down. Emily wants to slap him, push him away, but that would make a scene. In this type of situation, it’s best to be discrete. 

“The end is near, you know.” 

She hesitates. “No. Not yet. I need time. I need to -”

“It won’t be long. You have a chance to get out now, before we come in and take you out ourselves. It might spare you some … it might be easier that way. Especially with the kid. I know you’ve become fond of him. Separating yourself now might be for the best.” 

“I’ll take my chances.” She gets up from the bench, turning on her heel and leaving Sean alone. “I got myself in this mess from the start. I’ll see myself out of it.” 

…

Later that night, once she’s back in Tuscany, Ian undresses her slowly, taking his time with every button and each zipper, his lips following the places his fingers brush over first, and she relaxes into the mattress with a deep sigh. The pillows underneath her head are far more luxurious than the ones she’d slept on for the last few nights, the bed much larger. From the open balcony she feels the breeze, a storm starting to roll in over the water in the distance. 

He’s been quiet most of the evening, greeting her when she’d arrived back with a kiss on the cheek followed by the press of a drink in her hand. They’d had dinner, listened to the soft rustle of the trees as Declan played at their feet, running back and forth through the open rooms and climbing into their laps every so often. 

“I’ve missed you the last few days,” Ian murmurs in her ear, and Emily knows it’s his way of asking where she’s been. Absolutely nothing gets past him, and he smiles when her hips lift just enough off the bed for him to tug her white linen pants down just enough to dip his hand between her legs, his thumb finding the spot that makes body acquiesce to his touch almost immediately. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against her ear, flicking his thumb three times until she whimpers. 

“I’m sorry it took me -” she chokes on air as his fingers press into her and curl up, and his thumb never stops moving - “so long to get back.” She finishes her sentence with a sharp inhale as he gets her pants off her legs and pushes her legs apart like he’s done so many times. “The train was delayed.” It comes out garbled, almost incoherent.

“What was that, love?” He teases, moving down her body until his mouth so close to where she needs him, yet he’s perfectly content letting her wait. 

“Ian.” She can’t help but moan, lifting her hips to his face, urging him on. “ _ Please _ .” 

“ _ Lauren,” _ he teases, gently mocking the tone of her voice. In the dim light she can see the sparkle in his blue eyes when he pushes her legs to the side and drags his tongue over her. “My beautiful Lauren.” 

When he  _ finally _ slides inside of her in one smooth stroke, taking her hands in his and holding them above her head, she  _ knows _ part of her will miss  _ this _ , as wrong as it is. He’s helped her forget; made her remember she’s worthy of love, even if this one is the most fucked up kind there is. 

And for that, she can’t be anything but grateful.

...

**Early Spring**

“I won’t leave until I know Declan is safe.” 

“Well, darling, what really happens is you will leave when we pull you out. It might look more convincing if you’re kicking and screaming your way out of there,” Clyde says with a touch of sarcasm in his voice despite the gravity of the topic at hand. Emily isn’t in the mood for his wisecracks anymore. “Then he won’t suspect a thing.” 

They’ve been at this for hours, once again. 

“When Doyle is apprehended, his whole network is going to unravel. His associates won’t be loyal anymore. They could  _ easily _ turn on him to save their own selves.” Emily paces the room, unable to tear her eyes away from the photographs of Declan that cover the corkboard. Many of them include her. “If  _ anyone _ finds out he has a son, they  _ will _ go after Declan. And Louise. And  _ that _ ,” she stops, gathering her wits. “That’s on us. I’m not willing to take that risk.” 

Sean and Clyde exchange a grim look. “This is why I hate involving kids, you know.” Clyde wrings his hands then runs a hand through his hair. “I knew this would come back to screw us.” 

“Regardless of how  _ you _ feel, Clyde, we have to do  _ something.  _ He’s a  _ fucking child _ . Not some pawn in your game. I’m not willing to just let him become a target because of  _ your _ feelings.” 

“There was  _ nothing  _ else you could have done? I told you to find his weakness, not completely screw up the whole point of this operation.”

“This is the ONLY thing we have on him, and we all know it. How long have I been doing this? Almost three years? This is all we have.” Emily can feel the panic rising in her voice, yet it feels misplaced. “We have nothing else. I had no other way. You don’t even  _ know _ the means I’ve gone to in order to get this far.” 

Both men nod, an admittance of the fact that she’s right. 

“We’ve been talking about a plan,” Sean begins. “You’re not going to like it, but it just might work.” He produces a folder from his jacket, already looking guilty. “It won’t be easy, but if it goes right the first time, we might have a chance.” 

The logistics are risky; the entire plan is a bad one, in her opinion, but it’s the only one they’ve got. She has a bad feeling about all of it, one she can’t shake, but she has no other choice.

_ This isn’t about her anyway.  _

…

**Spring**

Aaron is about to dump a huge pot of boiling pasta into the colander when Haley speaks for the first time since he got home from work - one of the rare days he actually gets home before 5:30 PM. He’s known something is on her mind, and whatever she has to say is probably going to cause yet another fight between them. There’s been a lot of fighting lately. He’s too tired for an argument, so he lets it happen. 

“I want to start trying for a second baby, Aaron.” She has Jack in one arm and a basket of laundry on her hip, and despite her worn out appearance, she hasn’t looked at him  _ this way _ in months.

He nearly drops the entire pot all over the floor, as if he isn’t sure he heard her correctly. 

“What?” He turns around quickly, draining the water and giving the pasta a good shake. This way, she can’t see his face, which would tell her exactly how he feels about this. 

“You heard me, Aaron.” 

“Haley,” he says gently, letting the pasta drain in the sink. “We’ve been over this. It’s too early.” 

“I know. But … Jack will be one in the fall **.** I want him to have a sibling close in age, and I don’t want to wait forever. We’re not getting any younger, you know. Plus, you’re not the one who has to carry the baby for nine months. Shouldn’t I have some say as to when it happens?” 

_ It’s a joint decision,  _ He wants to say. “Do you know what that would entail? Can you really handle another baby, Haley? I can’t be home with you all the time. How will you do both on your own?” 

“Forget it,” Haley snaps, slamming the laundry basket onto the floor and kicking it to the side. Jack starts to wail as if on cue, his screams only mounting in duration and intensity as Aaron reaches for the jar of pasta sauce. Except the lid isn’t on properly, and when he goes to dump it over the noodles, it goes everywhere  _ except _ where it’s supposed to, splashing across the counter, the sink, and on him.

“Son of a bitch.” He reaches for a dish towel to wipe up what he can of the sticky mess. “Do we have another jar of sauce? I only saw one in there.” 

“I haven’t had time to go to the damn store,” Haley snaps, her eyes darkening with anger. “It’s hard enough keeping this house going, you know.” 

“And yet you want a second baby?” He can’t help the contempt that rises in his tone as he stares at his wife. “Do you honestly think that’s a good idea? We’re struggling with one.” 

“I guess it doesn’t fucking matter what I think,” she snaps. “You make all the decisions around here anyway. Figure out your own dinner. I’m going to Jessica’s for a little while.” 

She’s gone within seconds, leaving Aaron in the middle of the messy kitchen, covered in pasta sauce. 

_ It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  _

…

**Spring**

The end is planned to the very last detail, like a choreographed dance. And even if she’s had little say in how it ends, she’s partly responsible for its flawless execution. She’s repeated the date over and over; right before she falls asleep every night she reviews it in her mind until she just  _ can’t  _ anymore. It’s deceptively simple - a quick extraction, and then an arrest. 

_ What matters most is what will come after he’s arrested. _

She  _ knows  _ they’re coming, and when she wakes up on the morning of the day she’s dreaded for so long, the sun has already risen high in the sky, warm and inviting, promising of the day to come. Yet she doesn’t want to open her eyes, because the next time she closes them, it’ll all be over.  _ If all goes as planned, of course. _

“Wake up, love,” Ian croons from where he’s curled behind her, his hand fixed upon her breast, his fingers tweaking her nipple, his lips on her ear. He’s hard against her hip, making his intentions more than obvious, and his other hand is quickly reaching around her hip and between her legs. “Good morning.” 

“Hi,” she whispers, not daring to turn around, lest she gives anything away. Then his thumb presses against the spot he  _ knows _ will make her moan, and she gives in even though she tries her hardest not to. 

“You were so quiet last night.” He squeezes her breast this time, in time with the flick of his thumb, and Emily already feels her body start to heat up to his touch. “I was starting to think you were hiding something from me.” 

“I was t-tired,” she offers, pushing her hips back into his suggestively.  _ Of course she was. They’d secured a deal with another organization for a new cache of weapons, and the exchange had gone down in a little town outside of Florence.  _ Little did Ian know, those arms dealers were Interpol agents. Colleagues of hers. He walked right into the setup just like they’d planned. 

_ The end, _ she thinks,  _ is in fact very near. Waking up like this will never happen again _ . 

“It was,” he croons in her ear, continuing his ministrations, and now it’s not even worth the effort to hold him off. He’s  _ clearly _ determined to take her apart before they get out of bed, and Emily’s hips start to rock against him on their own accord. “I couldn’t have done it without you, love. Those French dealers  _ loved _ you. We wouldn’t have gotten as much as we did if it weren’t for you”  _ Of course they did. She made sure of that.  _

Emily pushes Ian over, straddles him, enjoying the way his eyes light up in amusement, his hands rounding her hips and smoothing up her stomach. “We make a good team, don’t we?” As if to prove her point, she sinks down on his length with a sigh. He groans, a small smile on his lips, his eyes never leaving her. She bites her lip, and braces her hands on his chest, and for a brief moment, everything feels exactly the way it should. 

“There you go,” Ian murmurs, a soft gleam in his eyes, the touch of his hands gentle.“I love you, you know that right?” it’s the first time he’s actually said it out loud, and it will almost certainly be the last. 

_ Lauren _ reaches up with one hand, smiling into their kiss, scraping her fingernails down his neck, and when he shifts and she does too, finally letting herself move.  _ Emily _ closes her eyes and tries to forget any of this ever happened. In just a few hours, it’ll be like it never did at all. It’ll never be mentioned again. 

…

The afternoon sun isn’t too warm, thankfully, as she tends to the freesias in the garden on one side of the villa. It’s a waiting game at this point, and she needs something to busy her hands. It won’t be long now, but she won’t hear them coming until it’s too late. That’s how these things work - in the blink of an eye, it all changes. 

It happens soon after that - a line of shiny black SUV’s swarm the driveway like a cavalry and the agents pour out, guns wielded, their faces shielded with dark sunglasses. Some of them are speaking Italian but she knows they’ll understand her. She doesn't have to do much -  _ they’ll have it under control _ \- but when they reach for her arms and pull her to her feet, she resists just enough to make it a little more believable. 

“I want to talk to Sean,” Emily mutters so that only they can hear. In the nick of time she turns around, to see Ian at the balcony right above the garden, watching the entire thing with a chilling look of realization, as if he  _ knows _ the truth. 

_ Her work here is done _ . 

Except instead of the relief she knows she’s supposed to feel when she’s in the back of the shiny black SUV, the only thing she feels is regret. He’ll be locked away for the rest of his life somewhere far away - a place she can’t think about for too long. It’s where he belongs, of course, but it renders Declan essentially a glorified orphan, all thanks to  _ her _ , and that’s the best case scenario. 

_ Sean had been right. It sucks you in, it can ruin you.  _ She presses her cheek to the cold window; the sun has vanished and storm clouds are rolling in, heavy and threatening, as they get further and further away from Tuscany. 

Clyde and Sean meet her at their rendezvous point, which is another secure location, this one on the outskirts of Munich. It’s much colder here than it was in Italy; luckily Clyde is waiting with a cashmere wrap in his hands that she knows isn’t hers but she takes it anyway.. It’s been a  _ long _ seven hours in the car, and when she stands to stretch her legs, she feels shaky and dazed, as if the day is all a figment of her imagination. 

“Your things were retrieved from the villa,” one of them says as she brushes past them, struggling to put one foot in front of the other. 

“Great.” Her voice is distant, far away, as if she left it behind in Tuscany. “I need to be alone for awhile.” 

They give her some time to shower and change her clothes; they’ve brought all of her other bags from the Interpol headquarters. She does a double take; she barely recognizes her own belongings anymore. Emily digs through them, searching for something comfortable -  _ she can’t get warm no matter how hard she tries _ -but everything in the suitcase feels and looks so foreign to her. It’s like none of it is hers. 

When the team gathers together for the first time in a while, Clyde speaks first, a large picture of Doyle tacked up to the cork board on the wall. There’s a second photograph - one of _ her _ , a staged photograph of a car accident at the Italian/German border.  _ She’s supposed to be dead _ , and a small part of her feels exactly like that. Glancing around at her team - Sean, Clyde, Tsia, Jeremy - they all look mildly triumphant, and Emily can’t blame them. The success of JTF-12 isn’t something to be taken lightly, yet she isn’t even sure what to feel, if anything at all by now. 

“Lauren Reynolds is dead,” Clyde says, ripping the photograph down, then Doyle’s, and the rest of the images that have haunted them all for the last few years **.**

_ It’s only then does she realize it’s truly over.  _

_ Almost. _

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 36 coming soon!


	36. Thirty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re my wife. I love you.” 
> 
> “I’m sure you do. But something tells me you’ve never stopped loving her either.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 36 is here, friends, coming to you from my couch, where I’ve spent the majority of the last two days, drinking Christmas margaritas and eating cookies. I think I’m about to morph into a cookie at this point, but someone has to finish them, right? I even came up with a mini little plot bunny for what I’m planning on writing after this is done … so that’s exciting. For now, we’re edging into the present day, and chapters at the point will follow canon events, with some changes along the way. 
> 
> Have a safe last week of 2020, and a happy new year too. The next update will most likely be in 2021, which I can’t believe. I hope you enjoy, as always! <3
> 
> PS - a very special thank you to AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell for the song rec that became this chapter title.

**Chapter 36: I Like It Heavy**

_ Got a demon in my soul, and a voice in my head _

_ Saying go, go, go, I can sleep when I'm dead _

_ There's a sonic revelation bringing me to my knees _

_ And there's a man down below that needs my sympathy _

_ I got a ringing in my ears getting ready to burst _

_ Screaming hallelujah mother fucker, take me to church _

“Is he safe? You’re sure it’s done?” Sean asks again, his face pinched, less than twenty-four hours after it’s done, and she’s back in Munich after a hellish flight from Boston-Logan. She landed in the middle of a rainstorm, which is fitting, because she’s been in a terrible mood ever since and it’s  _ still  _ storming. Sean is wringing his hands; it doesn’t take a genius to know he’s thinking of his own wife and daughter.  _ This could easily be him too one day. Someone could easily lure his family into the same trap _ . It hits too close to home.  _ Part of the job _ , she tries to tell herself.  _ Part of the job.  _

“You mean Declan,” she says, more detached than she intended to, wishing she’d never agreed to do this in the first place. Emily watches Sean take a heavy breath and lower himself into a chair with a little too much effort. He’s become a shell of himself in the last few years, she’s noticed that. She has for a long time. She just hasn’t had the headspace to ever think about it for too long. She’s had her own baggage to contend with. 

“Yes, that’s what I meant.” 

“It’s been taken care of,” Emily says casually this time, even though it’s not worth it because of course Sean will know immediately how she really feels. “Everything went exactly as you planned.” 

“As  _ we _ planned,” he corrects her quickly.  _ As they planned. This is on all of them.  _ “I seem to remember you were there and agreed to it.” He’s not wrong. It’d been their only way out; their only way to ensure Declan and Louise would be safe. 

“Right.” Emily just stares blankly over his shoulder, remembering the night clearly. “I was there.”

“Say  _ something _ , Emily. Jesus Christ, say something.” 

“What is there to say, Sean? It’s done. Do we need to discuss it anymore? Does it even matter?” She decides _not_ to tell him she’s felt perpetually sick since she got back from Boston, that she hasn’t been able to keep anything down besides a few sips of water every now and then. She looks awful and feels even worse, but she can’t admit that, o **r** else it’s admitting that he was right about this job all along, all those years ago. 

Sean stiffens. “Of course it matters. If I remember correctly, you were the one who wouldn’t get out of there until you were sure of their safety. Don’t go telling me it doesn’t matter.” 

If she doesn’t sit down her legs will give out right underneath of her. There’s already a headache brewing right behind her eyes, spreading like some insidious plague in her brain. “I don’t want to talk about it, Sean.” She’s  _ seen _ the photographs. Hell, she’s the one that took them. She staged the scene. Her hand was on that gun. It’ll take a small miracle to forget just what happened in that room, the terrified looks on both Louise and Declan’s faces when they were led into  _ that _ room. The one that they supposedly never left. 

Of course she knows better - so does he - but it’s best to let bygones be bygones.

Sean starts talking, and she’s only half listening. He’s going on and on … something about what happens next, now that JTF-12 has been disbanded,  _ what does she want to do _ and  _ has she given any thought to where she’s going _ . Her eyes burn and her ears start to ring; there’s nausea and chills and a lingering pain in her chest too, and she knows this isn’t going to end well. Even though she  _ promised _ herself she wouldn’t lose control of the resolve she’s spent the last few days trying to maintain, any sense of composure she had is flying out the window. 

She’s shaking, rocking back and forth with her head in her hands, and something that feels strangely like tears start to fall before everything around her fades. 

“ _ Emily _ !” 

...

When she comes around, there’s an IV taped to her hand and Sean is sitting at the foot of her bed, looking like complete shit. His face is grey; his hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Emily briefly wonders just how long he’s been sitting there with her. She has no idea what time it is; there’s no clock on the wall in this hospital room. 

“What the fuck?” She pulls a little too hard trying to sit up and it makes her dizzy all over again.  _ Do not throw up, Emily _ , she tells herself, her eyes locked on the plastic container meant for that very purpose at the bedside table. “Why do you look so awful?” 

“You should talk,” he says with a hint of amusement but his eyes tell a different story. “You passed out, and are currently sitting in the middle of a hospital. You’re severely dehydrated, apparently,” Sean says from his place at the foot of the bed. “You don’t remember passing out in my office?” 

She ignores him and shudders.  _ I hate hospitals _ , she thinks, nervously looking around the room, remembering the last time she was in a place like this. _.  _ “Can we get out of here? I don’t need to be here all day.” 

“Yes, yes you do. You’re staying right there until someone with a medical degree tells you it’s alright to leave. You woke up briefly in the ambulance and passed out again. I’m not having you pass out  _ again _ when you’re alone, and I don’t have time to babysit you myself.”

“Sean -” 

“It’s not up for debate, Emily. It’s about damn time you start taking care of yourself. Sometimes I don’t know how you made it _this_ far.” His face softens when he sees her discomfort, as if he knows there’s more to the story than what she’s letting on. “I won’t always be there to pick up the slack.”

“Can you stay for a little while?” She’s annoyed at him, sure, but she really doesn’t want to be alone. Not here. 

“I wouldn’t leave you here. I’m not  _ that _ mean. Throw me the TV remote. I’ll find something good to watch.” 

Rolling her eyes, she flings herself back on the pillows but passes it over. Within minutes, she’s asleep again, the sweet relief of rest finally overtaking her. 

...

“Have you thought this over?” Sean asks her again, one day in late summer a few weeks later when they meet to discuss her options.  _ Options _ , as if she were deciding between regular or diet coke, coffee or tea, red wine or white wine.  _ Options _ , as if she hasn’t systematically been throwing her options away since she went undercover years ago.  _ Options _ , as if she can just assimilate back into the world she once knew.

It’s been almost a full month since she was shoved into the backseat of an SUV at the hands of the burly, intimidating Interpol agents in their dark suits and sunglasses. Almost a month has passed since she’d arrived back in Munich, only to then ship off to Boston mere days later, only to completely _ruin_ the life of an innocent child, and return back to Europe as if nothing ever happened. In that time, the only decision she’s made is it’s time to leave this world behind. It’s the only logical solution, the only way to stop the downward spiral in which she’s headed. 

“It’s time, Sean.” she says with a hint of finality in her voice. JTF-12 is essentially gone; Ian is locked away. That part of her is _forgotten_ , _dead and gone._ **“** I want out.”

“You remembered what I said.” He’s looking for an admission; he wants to hear he was right after all this time. 

She looks around the room, unsure of what to say to appease him, but not willing to give him the satisfaction just yet. “I … this world. I can’t do it anymore.” Not after what’s happened. Not now. Not ever.” She stops to take a breath; only then does she see the small smile on his face. “What’s that look for?” 

“It’s a different tune than I thought you’d sing for sure.” He regards her; glancing her up and down. “But I can’t say I disagree with you. What helped you make up your mind?” 

She glares at him, knowing he just wants her to talk. “It’s time.”  _ I can’t do it again. It nearly broke me once. He shouldn’t have to ask. He already knows.  _

“You’re saying you want to go home?” 

She shakes her head, eyes on her feet.  **“** I’m not ready to go back home, but I can’t stay here.” 

He nods slightly albeit tiredly, running a hand through his hair. “I think we can work something out.” 

**…**

She spends two full years in Europe, traveling and visiting all the places she’s missed so dearly during her time at Yale, and some new ones along the way. There are zero obligations and her time is her own. 

Emily sees her mother for the first time in a few years when she’s in Austria, and they meet at a ridiculously fancy hotel in the middle of Salzburg. While Elizabeth isn’t entirely aware of  _ everything _ that’s happened since Emily initially left, she narrows her eyes from across the table, knowing there’s more to the story than just some wanderlust. “One day, I want to hear just what you’ve been up to the last few years. When you said you needed space, I didn’t think it would be  _ this _ much.” She looks relieved though, to see her daughter is safe.

“You never fought me on it,” Emily says evenly, sipping the wine in front of her. “Why did you just let me go?”

Elizabeth reaches for her wine, and Emily isn’t blind to the fact her mother has already polished off two full glasses. “I’ve spent  _ years _ fighting with you, Emily. You needed to find yourself. Figure things out. Decide what you want.” 

_ Nothing is even close to being figured out. _

Emily merely chuckles, lifting her own glass in a toast.

...

Living abroad is satisfying and exactly what she needs until one day it isn’t, and when she comes to the realization it’s time to go  _ for real _ this time, there’s no one that can talk her out of it. 

She makes the phone call she’s always known she’d make. She knew she wouldn’t be able to stay away forever. “Sean,” Emily says one night. “I need to see you.” 

“Is everything alright?” He says, after he answers on the first ring. Hearing his voice almost makes her heart ache. He’s always been there, even on the days she didn’t want to talk to him - there had been several of those over the years.

“Everything is fine,” she says quickly, glancing around her almost empty apartment, the one she’s had for the last five months, the one she’s decided not to lease again. “I just … I’ve been thinking a lot lately. I think it’s time.” 

Sean doesn’t need any explanation **.** “I’ll be in London next week. Come to my office and we’ll talk.” 

He’s never let her down before. 

...

London is exactly the same as before; it’s like she never left. It’s absolutely beautiful out, not a cloud in the sky, yet it doesn’t do much to change her shitty mood.

“It’s time to go home, Sean,” she says quietly after giving him a hug.  _ It is so good to see him,  _ she thinks as he passes her the cup of coffee he’s had waiting for her.

“I had a feeling that’s where this was headed.” He leans back in his chair, linking his fingers behind his head. “I’ve been thinking about it for awhile, actually.” 

“You know me well.” Taking a sip of the coffee she sighs, because it instantly calms her racing mind. “Thinking about what?” She adds, wondering just what he has up his sleeve.

Sean seems to sense her discomfort, quickly reaching for a folder on the desk in front of him. “Have you thought at all about what you’re going to do … once you’re in the states?” 

She hasn’t given it much thought at all, even though she’s had more than enough time to figure it out the last two years. It always seemed too exhausting to consider for more than a few minutes at a time. Opening her mouth to speak, she’s not surprised when nothing comes out. “I … I have a few options,” she lies. “Nothing official yet.”  _ Best to keep it vague. _

Sean seems to see right past that lie, because he taps the folder, never taking his eyes off of her. “I pulled a few strings, if you’re interested.” 

“Of course you did,” Emily drawls, tapping her foot on the floor, wondering just what those _ string _ s might be. Clyde has always been the more charming of the two, that’s for sure, with his looks and charisma, but Sean has always had a knack for getting  _ exactly _ what he wants,  _ when _ he wants it.  _ You wouldn’t be here otherwise _ , Emily thinks, the memory of their first initial meeting years ago coming back with vivid detail. “You and your connections,” she mumbles with a roll of her eyes. 

“You might find it tempting, and with your experience, you’d be a perfect match,” Sean says, pushing the folder into her hands. “It’s up to you.” He never takes his eyes from her, and it’s all she needs to know whatever is in the folder is probably  _ not _ what she’s going to want to see.

She flips the cover back, and the first page alone sends a tremor down her spine and the air right out of her lungs. Surely he’s just fucking with her; he can’t be serious about this, but Sean’s always had a way for making her see exactly what she’s been hiding from. 

“You didn't actually do this did you?” She reads over the documents, knowing  _ exactly _ how much work this probably took him. She’s wise enough to know it’s also taken him more than a month to arrange this. Hell, he’s probably been working on this for almost a year, she thinks. Annoyed, she hands the folder right back. “And if this works out like you’ve planned, I’d be walking right onto  _ his _ team. You’re really okay with that?”

“I did, and I am.”

“Why?” 

“Most of the time, there are no happy endings for people like us.” Sean’s pen flies across the page, his signature a sloppy scrawl at the bottom of the paperwork he’s had in front of him for the last month. The paperwork that essentially leaves this life behind her. “Don’t let that become your reality too.” 

“Why are you still pushing for this, Sean? He’s  _ married _ . They have a child.” She winces at the admission; Allison had let  _ that _ slip on one of the first phone calls they had after she’d returned from Boston. Emily wasn’t surprised at all, yet it didn’t stop her chest from aching for hours after she hung up the phone. “I let it go a long time ago.”

“That’s what you tell yourself, Emily. But … we both know it’s a lie.” 

“I can’t walk right back into what I’ve worked so hard to forget.” 

“It’s not a completely done deal, you know. I recommended you for several positions within the bureau, actually, some aren’t even in Quantico. It would have looked awfully suspicious if I pushed too hard for one thing. His unit just happened to have an opening. Something about another agent leaving under some tense circumstances … I wasn’t really paying attention. Where they decide to place you is up to them, not me. I just laid the groundwork.” He leans back in his chair, makes a symbolic show of dusting off his hands. “Either way, you’ll be getting a phone call from an Erin Strauss. She’s a head honcho at the FBI. She’s been looking forward to speaking with you.” 

“I don’t even know what to say,” Emily begins, her hands already starting to tremble. Despite her apprehension, and the fact that it’s probably a  _ bad _ idea, a position like this is  _ exactly  _ what she’s wanted. It’s thrilling, challenging, and exactly what she needs to forget the last few years of chaos, yet linking the past and present.

“I’ve heard  _ thank you  _ is a place to start,” he quips, his eyes twinkling. Even though their relationship is based on secrecy, half truths, and clandestine meetings, he’s been the closest thing to a friend she’s had in years. He knows more about her than most ever will, even though she’s never come close to telling him  _ everything _ . 

Somehow, he’s always known. 

“Thank you, Sean. For everything. I might just miss you, you know.” There’s a small ache in her chest now, one she didn’t expect to feel. “I’m glad you almost dumped coffee on me all those years ago.” 

It’s his turn to laugh, one of the most honest ones she’s heard from him in awhile.“Don’t be a stranger, Emily. We’ll still be here, if you ever … if things don’t work out.” 

She shakes her head and smiles, and even though it only touches her lips, it’s genuine. “Goodbye, Sean.” When she turns her back, Emily doesn’t stop moving forward.

...

She’s been back in the states for less than three weeks when she gets the final word of the confirmation of her new assignment, along with  _ where _ to report on her first day.

_ Quantico _ . She’ll essentially walk right back into his life as if  _ nothing _ ever happened. Yet, more has happened than she can even put into words. 

“Of course I accept the offer,” Emily says softly, her fingers brushing over yet another envelope in her lap, this one embossed with the FBI logo in the middle. Her offer of employment, the terms and conditions, the fine print and everything else in between. She’d be lying if she didn’t already have a massive distaste for Agent Erin Strauss. She’s conniving, her eyes cold, as she sizes Emily up the moment she steps into her office.

“I’m very pleased to hear that,” Strauss says evenly from behind her desk. “This is an incredibly delicate situation, Agent Prentiss. I’m taking a chance on you, trusting you. This surely won’t be a problem, will it?”

“No,” Emily says quickly, suppressing every thought out of her mind. Clearly Erin Strauss takes no prisoners, and obviously she has an agenda, one she truly believes Emily can help her with. Years of experience have taught her that  _ everyone has an agenda. _ Some are just better at hiding it than others.

“You came highly recommended, Agent Prentiss. Your former superiors spoke  _ highly _ of you. They were the ones who suggested you for this position.” 

“Thank you, ma’am.” Emily swallows, wringing her hands in her lap, tearing at the skin around her fingers. 

“Agent Hotchner will be briefed this afternoon, and you will start tomorrow morning. You’ll see him upon your arrival for more information and your duties.” 

Emily only nods, wishing she didn’t feel so  _ nauseous _ at the thought of seeing him again. “I understand, ma’am.” 

…

When Erin Strauss shows up in his office in the middle of a random Tuesday, Aaron has a feeling whatever she’s about to say isn’t going to be  _ good _ news. Everything is a mess - Elle’s departure has left them all stressed, strained, and picking up slack in places they shouldn’t. They’re tense, on edge, and desperately in need of a break. 

It’s a quiet day for once - no cases, just paperwork, and Aaron puts his head down and grinds through the afternoon. It’s been a tough few days at home too; Haley’s frustration is at an all time high and there’s not much he can say right now to make things better on that end, either.

So when he sees Strauss standing there, he’s half tempted to tell her he doesn’t have time for any of this. But she’s coming to him with  _ good news _ , or so she says, and he can’t help but think she’s  _ sorely _ wrong. 

He knows better by now. 

“I took it upon myself to solve some of your problems, Agent Hotchner.” 

“How kind of you, Erin.” He’s no stranger to Strauss’s motives. There’s always a reason for everything, so he isn’t particularly convinced when she passes over the new hire file in her hands.

“This new agent comes highly recommended from Interpol. I think she’s going to be a tremendous addition to the BAU team,” Strauss says, but Aaron is hardly paying attention. “She starts tomorrow morning.” 

“I’ll review her file,” Aaron says quickly, reaching for it. “I’ll brief the team as well.” The faster he can get this over with, the sooner he can continue on with his day. What stares him back in the face when he flips it open is enough to turn his blood cold, a harsh reminder of what he’s been trying for so long to forget.  _ This is exactly what he doesn’t need. _

No, this can’t be real. 

_ This has to be some kind of joke.  _

**...**

Aaron barely hears Haley’s voice when he gets in. He sets his briefcase down with a resounding thud, tossing his suit jacket on the back of a chair haphazardly, not even noticing when it slides to the floor in a heap. 

“Honey? How was your day?” It sounds like it’s not the first time she’s asked the question. She’s standing at the stove, immersed in making their dinner. 

“I had a big lunch,” he says the first thing that comes to mind, but clearly those weren’t the right words, because Haley frowns at his response, and he realizes yet again he wasn’t paying attention to a thing she said.

_ This is going to cause a fight _ , he thinks, wishing he could go to the fridge and get a beer to numb his frayed nerves. But  _ that _ would only annoy her more, and he hasn’t even been home for five minutes.

“Aaron, are you even listening to me? Clearly you aren’t, because you’re not making any sense. I asked you how your day was.” Haley sets the meat chopper down with more force than necessary, not bothering to hide her frustration. “Twice.” 

“I’m sorry, hon.” Swinging Jack into his arms, Aaron pecks the top of his son’s head and then steps over a few toys to kiss his wife. “It was long.” 

“Hi Daddy,” the little boy squeals with a huge smile in his half-intelligible babble. “Love you, daddy. Mished you.” 

“I love you too, buddy. And I missed you too. Why don’t you show me one of your toys and let’s let Mommy finish cooking.” Turning to his son, Aaron hands him a toy that lingers on the floor, but Jack bats it away, toddling away from his playmat to get another one. “This one, Daddy.” 

“It’s  _ always _ a long day, Aaron. Everyone has long days.” Haley looks tired and drained. “You certainly aren’t the only one, despite what you might think.” 

Aaron gently covers his son’s ears with his hands. “I’m not doing this in front of him, Haley. What the hell is that supposed to mean?” When he’s done, he continues to distract Jack with the toys. Their son isn’t totally oblivious to the storm brewing between the two of them despite his age, and he clings to Aaron needily. 

“I feel like you never  _ listen _ to me, Aaron. You hear the words I say, but you don’t know what they mean.”

**“** Haley,” he begins, not ready for another argument, especially after today. He can barely think about anything else besides what awaits him at work in the morning. “I’m sorry.” 

“Mama,” Jack babbles from his playmat, waving a toy full of spit. “Mama … hungry!” 

“Soon, Jack.” Frustrated, Haley pulls the refrigerator door open, reaching for lettuce and cheese with a sigh, clearly in no mood to continue the conversation. 

It’s not the first night like this they’ve had. 

They’re all used to it by now, even though they shouldn’t be.

**...**

Aaron barely has a moment to look over the paperwork, let alone process the conversation he’d had with Erin Strauss the day before. She’d had been painfully obtuse when she showed up in his office, leaving no room for discussion or debate when she handed him Emily’s completed paperwork and explained how she took it upon herself to hire the next member of the BAU. 

There’s something oddly determinant about the whole thing, as if it’s been planned, but he doesn’t even know where to start  _ or _ what to say. Of course, he can’t say a word about any of it without raising more questions than he’s willing to answer. Instead, he’d just listened without hardly saying a word.

She’s going to walk right back into his life as if she never left. In a way, she never has. It’s been years, but he can count on two hands the number of days she  _ hasn’t _ been on his mind. Of course, some times are better than others, but in the quiet hours, in the stressful times and some good ones too,  _ she _ is where his mind wanders to. There have been birthdays and Christmases, wedding and funerals -milestones that have passed fleetingly, time moving too quickly and yet not fast enough, and on each one he’s wondered what it would have been like to share them with  _ her _ . 

He stopped asking Shane about her a  _ long _ time ago - he  _ knows _ it made his friend uncomfortable discussing the situation. A few background checks have turned up very little as to where she’s been or where she is- at least he hasn’t done that in a few years. It’s as if she completely disappeared, and Aaron can’t say he blames her in the slightest.  _ Which is what makes all of this so incredibly strange _ .

He’s in the midst of finishing the pile of paperwork that never got done yesterday when she appears out of nowhere, and there’s no way to hide the way his face turns two shades lighter when the slim, dark haired figure is suddenly before him. The one he’s never fully forgotten, despite his best intentions.

“Agent Hotchner? I’m Agent Emily Prentiss.” 

The room suddenly isn’t big enough; it’s like the walls are closing in. The sound of her voice alone is enough to send him spinning, and when he looks up from the paperwork on his desk, his heart in his throat. There she is. He has to blink to make sure she’s actually real, like he isn’t dreaming all of this. 

_ Is she serious? Is she really just going to pretend like this is normal? Like … like this the first time they’re meeting? Is she going to just ignore the fact that there’s years of history there, a million things left unsaid?  _

“Ah -” he practically jumps right out of his damn chair when he sees her in the doorway with a box in her hands, a security guard behind her, clearly having shown her the way up. “Come in.

Emily leaves a crack in the door behind her and the air is so silent and still you might hear a pin drop. In the distance, there’s the screech of tires on the road from outside the window, a siren and the hum of construction machines too. It’s almost confusing to him - as if things can just  _ go on _ like usual, when  _ here _ she is. 

“ _ Aaron _ ,” she says smoothly once it’s just them in the deafening silence, but he knows it’s all an act by the way her foot nervously taps against the floor.  _ It’s her tell, _ he thinks. It’s been less than a minute and he’s already started to profile her. Yet he still can’t help the way his hand slides back to his gun;  _ his  _ own tell. 

“ _ Emily _ .” Only then does he realize he can’t remember the last time he said her name out loud. It feels foreign, unfamiliar, almost taboo, as if he’s revealing a secret. “You … you want to set that down?” He can’t think of anything else to say, despite all the things he  _ wants _ to say.

“I wasn’t surprised .... when I heard the news.” She sets the box on the couch and points to the nameplate on his desk. “I knew you could do it,” Emily adds softly. “I knew you weren’t going to stay in security forever.

“Who told you?” 

Emily shrugs, taking a few curious steps around his office, taking it all in. She stops at some of the books on the shelf; she runs her fingers along the spines, admires the odds and ends that have accumulated over the years. “You worked your way up pretty quickly.” 

“I’ve been with the BAU since I started.” _There’s so much she doesn’t know,_ he thinks. _So much has happened since … then._ “How did you … I had no idea you were even…” He’s searching for words but he can’t find them, and he doesn’t miss the satisfied grin that curls up on her lips just enough, knowing she’s managed to throw him off just enough to make him squirm. 

“I’ve been in the bureau almost 3 years now.”  _ It’s not the truth at all, but Sean had come up with some pretty convincing ways to hide what no one needs to know. If she does this correctly, maybe they never will. “It’s a pretty impressive backstory,” she’d chuckled as they went over it for the last time, a few days before she flew back to the states. _

“Don’t tell me that,” he says, attempting a joke, his palms starting to sweat. “Has it been that long?” He can’t help but eye her up and down subtly, the image of her in his mind from years ago markedly different than what he sees in front of him. She’s  _ still _ the same, intensely beautiful with her dark features and pale skin, but there’s a heaviness to her that was never there before, as if she’s hovered between being lost and found for too long. She’s just as slender as she was in those days, her hair the same, maybe a few inches shorter, but there’s  _ something _ different he can’t place. He wants to ask where she’s been, why she seemingly dropped off the face of the earth, but he doesn’t have that right. Especially not now. Maybe he was never supposed to know. 

“Apparently,  _ Sir _ .” It’s the way she says it that tells him she’s not going to make this easy at all.  _ She’s not going to reveal a damn thing _ . “I’m supposed to start here today, at the BAU.” She follows his eyes down her legs, smirking, and Aaron winces when she catches him looking.  _ She’s still good,  _ he thinks.

“I saw the paperwork.” He rearranges a few files on his desk, reaching for the one Erin Strauss had given him the day before. “But I think there’s been a mistake.” It’s a pathetic attempt to bide time, but it’s one he’s willing to take. Maybe there’s  _ something _ Gideon can do, a few strings he can pull. Maybe he can talk to Strauss.  _ Something, anything  _ to ensure she doesn’t actually end up on his team. 

She opens her mouth to speak, but JJ pops her head in the room, and he’s never been more relieved to see her, or to have a case. 

“Excuse me, we’re starting soon.” She gives Aaron a quick smile, a brief glance at Emily. 

He makes a mental note to thank her later, even if she’ll have no idea why. “Thank you. I’ll be right there.” He can’t get out of his office fast enough. “I didn’t approve this transfer. I’m sorry for the confusion, but you’ve been misinformed. Excuse me. It was very good to see you again.” 

When Aaron brushes past Emily, he gets a whiff of her perfume, and it stops him in his tracks in the threshold of his office.  _ Keep moving _ , he wills himself, but he can’t, because he’s instantly taken back to that summer, years ago. He doesn’t dare to close his eyes, because he knows what he’ll see.  _ He’ll see her. _

“Some things never change, do they?” 

When he turns around just enough to see her face, she’s still standing behind him, wearing an expression that mirrors his own. 

He doesn’t stop walking down the hallway.

...

Emily is  _ still _ sitting on the couch in his office when they return from St. Louis. He’s tired and cranky after a long flight and little sleep the night before. Seeing her only solidifies the fact that he could really use a  _ fucking _ drink.

“Tell me you haven't been there the last four days.” He’s not angry, not even surprised. At this point, he isn’t even sure what he is. But she’s sitting there, and she’s clearly not going anywhere. At least not now. 

“I heard you were flying back tonight.” 

“Heard? How could you have heard a thing like that?” 

_ Oh, Aaron. You have no idea what I’ve heard _ . “You know me by now,” she says, her tone decidedly less pleasant than it had been the other day. “At least that’s what you said the last time I saw you, isn’t it? Surely you know I have my ways.” 

_ He remembers that night well, and not in a good way.  _ He’s too drained to argue with her; he’s not ready to go home just yet.  _ If you can’t beat them, join them.  _ “You want a drink?” He sets his bag down and even that takes more effort than it should. He fumbles with the keys in his hands and they fall to the ground with a clatter. 

“Are you nervous or something, Aaron?” She crosses one leg over the other, and his mouth goes dry.  _ Eyes up,  _ he reminds himself. “You look nervous.” 

He gets behind his desk, putting a barrier between them before he can embarrass himself any further. On afterthought, he reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

Emily’s head cocks to the side just enough to indicate her surprise, but she moves closer, sitting in one of the chairs across from him, her eyes following his every move. “Don’t you have to get home? To your wife … and your  _ son _ ?” 

Aaron looks around absentmindedly, as if the answer will be on the walls or pulled out of thin air. “Haley and Jack stay with her sister sometimes … when I’m away. She doesn’t like being alone.” 

Emily seems to accept that answer, even though she rolls her eyes. “You didn’t tell her you’re on your way home? Sounds so unlike you, Aaron. You were always more  _...attentive... _ than that.” 

“She doesn’t know we left St. Louis yet.” He pours the whiskey into the glasses, pushing one in her direction. “I know whiskey isn’t your favorite, but it’s all I’ve got.” 

“What do you mean you didn’t -” she stops when she sees his face, how torn and almost despondent he looks, and then it dawns on her.  _ He isn’t happy, _ she realizes, not without a touch of her own regret. “Maybe this drink isn’t a bad idea after all.” She takes a sip, relieved to have something to do with her hands. 

A tense silence falls between them; years and years of unanswered questions and pain. 

He’s barely had dinner - the pretzels on the plane barely count as a snack let alone a meal, and it only takes a few sips of his own drink before he’s feeling bold. “Are you going to tell me where you’ve been the last few years? How you got here? What you’ve been doing with  _ Interpol? _ ” 

“Are you going to tell me why you showed up at my door one day, broke my heart and stomped on it on your way out?” She holds the glass to her lips, swirling the liquid in the bottom. Emily  _ almost _ enjoys the way he blanches visibly at her words. “Or does that not matter to you anymore? You just want your own answers.” 

“Emily, I -” 

“That’s what I thought.” He’s right - the whiskey isn’t her favorite by far, but she still drinks it anyway, because some liquid courage never hurt anyone. “It’s been years, Aaron. If you think I’m still hurt by the way things ended, you’re wrong. Besides, that’s  _ not  _ why I’m here, if you haven’t forgotten. I’m here for my job.” 

He pushes his empty glass aside. “Profiling is a specialty. We can’t just let anyone who wants to give it a whirl.” 

“The I-80 killer? Coeds in Indiana?” 

_ How does she know about that? That’s not even a formal BAU case at this point.  _

“Yes, I read it on the plane,” he says tiredly, and for a moment he thinks he’s hallucinating when she goes off, giving him an almost  _ identical _ profile than the one he’d come up with.  _ Maybe this isn’t a joke _ , he thinks, an unexplainable sense of pride blooming in his chest at her spot on analysis. 

Emily sniffs, knowing his silence means she impressed him. As she knew she would. “This isn’t a whirl,  _ Aaron _ . I belong in this unit. And all I’m asking you for is the chance to show you that.”  _ You owe me _ , is what she wants to say, but she doesn’t. 

“I still need to look into this,” he attempts, but she knows him well enough by now to see right through it. Rising from the chair, she goes to leave but stops in the door. 

“I’m glad you moved on, Aaron.”  _ I didn’t _ . “If you think this will impact my work, you’re wrong.” 

Only after she’s gone does he rest his head in his hands, and pours himself another glass of bourbon, wondering if he ever truly moved on at all. 

_ … _

“I listened to your voicemail,” Allison says, simultaneously checking her email with one hand and putting a forkful of salad into her mouth with the other. “What on earth could be so pressing that you wanted to meet at 2 AM? We’re not 19 anymore, Em. I’m lucky if I make it to 10 PM these days.” She laughs, even though her eyes are asking all the questions she  _ wants to _ , yet doesn’t know  _ how _ to.

“We were getting back from a case. I was on my way home … just needed someone to talk to.” Emily takes a sip of water and glances at the food in front of her; she suddenly has no appetite. “I wasn’t saying we had to meet right then.”

“Tell me about this new job,” Allison says excitedly, but rolls her eyes as her phone vibrates again. “I’m putting this on silent for the rest of lunch.” She tosses it in her bag. “Seems like … I don’t know. Kind of a stretch? The FBI? What exactly were you doing in Europe again?” 

She stares past Allison’s shoulder; explaining this one might take a little bit of finesse. “Yeah … “It’s kind of a long story.” Emily gives a quick shrug, knowing full well Allison doesn’t have time for a long story over her lunch break. Luckily, she hadn’t pushed  _ too  _ hard for any details about her time away. They’d kept in touch as much as they could, given the circumstances, and it’d been enough for her friend. Hopefully it stays that way. 

“I still can’t believe you’re officially working for the FBI.” Allison lifts an eyebrow, as if waiting for a punchline. “Doesn’t that mean … doesn’t … wait. Emily, you’re not saying -” Allison quickly puts two and two together.

“Aaron is my new boss,” Emily says casually, as if placing her coffee order or something equally as mundane, yet her eyes are now on her plate. “

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Allison drops her fork and it falls to the ground with a clang. “Emily, come on. You can’t.” 

“I can,” Emily says smoothly. “And I am.” 

“Well if that isn’t the biggest conflict of interest I’ve ever heard.” Allison’s eyebrows have practically disappeared into her hairline. “That sounds like the definition of problematic.” 

“It hasn’t been a problem.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “In fact, it’s been completely fine.” 

“Right, sure. Emily, do you think this is a smart idea? Considering everything you’ve been through? Especially with him?” 

_ You don’t even know the half of what I’ve been through, _ is what she wants to say. “It doesn’t matter.” Emily stabs at her salad again blindly before pushing it away. “It’s not going to impact my work.” 

But Allison has stopped paying attention for a moment. “Are you going to eat that?” She’s staring at Emily’s plate with wide eyes. “If not, pass it over.” 

“I see some things haven’t changed,” Emily laughs softly, pushing her plate and fork in her friend’s direction. “Do you do that whenever Shane eats something?” 

It’s Allison’s turn to laugh. “No, actually.” Then her expression turns solemn again, switching back to the topic at hand. “Emily, you can’t actually think this is going to work.” 

“I’m not concerned,” she says again, doing her best to hide the fact that she’s clenching her napkin in her hand. 

“He’s your  _ boss _ . He’ll always have the upper hand, no matter what.” The phone in her bag starts buzzing, and she reaches for it with a resigned sigh. 

“Not necessarily,” Emily watches Allison frown at one of her emails, and she briefly wonders just how many tasks her friend can juggle at once.

“I give you a week,” Her tone is one Emily can’t quite place - disappointment, perhaps? “A week until something happens. The two of you have always had a flair for the dramatic, you can’t argue with that.” She looks wildly concerned; Emily wonders just what the hell she’s going to tell Shane.

“He’s married now, Allison. He has a child. I wouldn’t … I can’t get in between that. _. _ If you think I would, you’re wrong.” 

“From what Shane has told me, it doesn't’ seem like - “ She cuts herself off, with a look on her face that confirms what Emily saw with her own two eyes a few weeks ago in Aaron’s office. 

_ He isn’t happy _ . 

“Nothing is going to happen, Allison. I can assure you that.” Emily swallows the lump in her throat, wishing they’d never had this conversation at all. 

_ Maybe it’s all been a huge mistake.  _

…

“Dude,” Shane says as he polishes off his second beer, pushing the bottle aside. “Allison told me the news. I knew Emily was back in the states but … she’s  _ working _ for you? How the  _ hell _ did that happen?” 

“She has been for a few weeks,” Aaron mutters. “And beats me. One day, my boss showed up and handed me her file. Said she was starting the next day. And the next day, she was there.” 

“Sounds like hell of a coincidence.” Shane’s tone is laced with a hint of disbelief. “What’s your take on all of this?” 

“I don’t know,” Aaron says honestly, letting himself start to process some of it for the first time. “I haven’t had a lot of time to think about it. It’s been working so far, I guess.”

“It’s not weird?” 

“It’s a job, Shane. You know how it is. There’s not much time to talk about the past in the middle of a case, you know.”

“Makes sense,” Shane still doesn’t look convinced. “What does Haley think about all of this?” He looks cautious, as if he doesn’t want to ask.

“I haven’t quite found the time to tell her yet,” Aaron says, unable to look his friend in the eye. “I don’t know how to bring it up to her. She doesn’t know much about Emily. I never really told her.”

“Never?” He asks with disbelief. “She has no idea how any of it ended?” 

“It was  _ over _ , Shane. There was no reason to.” 

“That’s what you tell yourself, man. But come on. We both know that’s a stretch.” 

Aaron rolls his eyes, because Shane is right. “Have you and Allison talked about this?” He doesn’t need to hear the answer; he already knows.  _ Of course they have. Probably in great detail. _

“We’re married, Aaron. You know how it is. There’s not much you  _ don’t _ talk about.” Shane shrugs lightly. It looks like he has more to say, but doesn’t dare add fuel to the fire.

_ Aaron doesn’t know what that’s like, because he doesn’t have the same relationship with Haley that Shane does with Allison.  _ “What do you think about all of this?” He asks after a few moments of silence.

“I think you need to be careful, man. It just seems like it could be trouble.” 

“I guess you’ve known Emily for a long time,” Aaron quips.

Shane laughs. “The stories I could tell you about those two in their early days. They were like hell on heels when they were in high school. But somehow they both got into Yale. I remember the staff at Ambassador Prentiss’s house was floored. The first time I met Allison I was actually afraid of her.” 

Aaron can’t help but smile, thinking of the first time he met Allison, back when Emily was still a mystery to him.  _ She still is.  _ “The night I met your wife, she drank too much and we had to take her home. She nearly threw up in my car.” He briefly closes his eyes -It’s a good memory, one of the first times Emily ever let her walls come down in front of him. It seems like a lifetime ago.

“Eh,” Shane chuckles, finishing his beer. “I think she turned out alright.” He reaches for another, popping off the top. 

“I don’t disagree.” He feels a pang of jealousy for his friend’s happiness, knowing full well he may never get to feel the same thing.

“Listen, Aaron, I know you don't want my opinion, but ...things happen for a reason. I know things didn’t work out with Emily the first time. Be careful, man. I don’t want to see you hurt. Or worse.”

Aaron reaches for another bottle, wishing they’d never had this conversation at all. 

...

He waits with bated breath for it to fail miserably, except it doesn’t.

It’s the  _ exact _ opposite. 

Aaron watches from a distance, with intrigue, as a friendship forms between Emily and Morgan, one he can’t quite figure out but also makes complete sense at the same time. And when Derek needs a friend in Chicago, _she_ ’s the one who comes through, standing by him even through all the doubt. On the way home from Illinois, he watches them both as they sit and talk in the dim light of the plane, a tentative bond between them, soft laughter and even a smile here and there. They’re oddly similar, with guarded walls and an innate distrust of people, so it only makes sense she’d stand behind him without wavering. 

JJ and Garcia take her under their wing, and he’s surprised at how easily she reciprocates their efforts. Reid warms to her almost instantly; Aaron overhears him telling Morgan about how  _ good _ she is at chess one morning as they pour coffee, looking slightly starstruck and wooed as Emily strides by with a good morning wave. Even Gideon is pretty impressed with her. Upon their return from Guantanamo he just smiles, but it’s what he  _ doesn’t _ say that speaks more volumes than the little he does. 

_ It’s a done deal - she’s part of their team, whether he likes it or not.  _

So he lives with it. Aaron is politely cordial but not overly friendly and she follows his lead, never losing her completely professional, if not slightly aloof at times, demeanor **.** But she’s  _ too good _ at profiling, he learns almost immediately, a skill that takes  _ years _ to develop, and something doesn’t quite add up.

One night after he’s certain everyone except her has gone home, he calls her into his office.  _ She’s overcompensating _ , he observes (and has the last few weeks). She stays a little later than they all do each night, her reports are handed in days earlier than the rest of them. He knows what she’s trying to prove, even though she doesn’t have to. She’s already worlds better than this than he ever anticipated. Her abilities are the least of his concerns. 

“You wanted to see me?” She’s standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips, and he has to blink to remember she isn’t nineteen anymore, and that he’s married.  _ Everything has changed _ , he reminds himself.

“Come sit.” He gestures to the empty chairs, pushes a pile of paperwork aside. She does so tentatively, eyeing him warily, never getting too close to him. She’s picking at her fingernails; another one of her tells, and it’s all he needs to know she’s nervous. About what, he isn’t sure, but she’s nervous nonetheless.

He doesn’t reach for the whiskey in his desk this time, and she knows he has an ulterior motive. This isn’t a casual chat; they’re not about to reminisce. “Why am I here, Aaron?” 

“Tell me where you’ve been. How did you end up here?” 

She pauses, her head turning slightly to the side as she regards him coolly. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.” 

“It is when I’m your boss.” 

“Why are you asking this  _ now _ ?” She’s giving him the look she’s given him so many times - as if he put her on the spot, yet unwilling to budge even a little bit. 

He wishes he’d come prepared with an answer. “Emily, you’re a damn good profiler. You’ve more than exceeded our expectations.” He chooses his words carefully, knowing he can’t afford to mess this up. “It just doesn’t add up.” 

“You think I  _ cheated _ my way here?”  _ It’s not quite what happened, but he can never know the real truth.  _ “You want to ask me who I slept with to get here?” She looks hurt, which he wasn’t expecting at all. He was expecting anger. 

He instantly tries to back pedal.  _ You asshole,  _ he thinks.  _ You’ve hurt her enough over the last few years.  _ “That’s not what I’m insinuating - “

“You have access to my file,” she says quietly, almost too quietly. “If you have any questions, ask Strauss. Are we done here? Because I really don’t see a point in continuing this conversation.” 

_ He knew she wasn’t going to make this easy for him.  _

“Emily,” he begins, wishing he didn’t sound so exhausted.  **“** Do you think any of this is easy for me?” 

She stiffens, essentially shutting him out. “I really don’t care what’s easy for you,  _ Aaron _ . I’m here to do my job. Last I checked, making it  _ easy _ for you isn’t part of the description.” 

There’s a knock on the door, and through the blinds, Aaron can see Reid lingering in the hallway, waving awkwardly through the window.  _ I thought he’d gone home _ .

“I guess that’s my cue to leave,” she says pleasantly, rising from the chair and giving Reid a friendly wave as the door swings open as if nothing ever happened. “Hey, Reid,” Emily says smoothly as she slips out of the doorway to let him pass. “Have a good night.” She turns to Aaron. “You too, sir.” 

_ She’s too good at faking this, _ Aaron thinks, shaking his head as he pulls himself together just in time as Reid sits down. 

“What was that about?” Reid asks once Emily is out of earshot down the stairs. “Everything ok?”

Aaron swallows.  _ Bad timing, Reid _ . “Everything’s fine.” Years of pretending have made him pretty good at this. “We were just catching up.” He doesn’t want to get into it now, but he can’t quite explain why she’d be there in his office after hours, which makes him wonder what the hell Reid is still doing here. 

“Catching up? You two know each other?” Reid’s interest is piqued.

“I used to work security for her mother. Ambassador Prentiss was posted in DC. Emily was going to Yale at the time. I met her when she came home for the summer.” It’s just enough information to be plausible yet it’s vague, but it seems to satisfy Reid.

He whistles. “I didn’t know she went to Yale. That’s pretty cool. Did you know she’s fluent in like four languages?” He sounds impressed. 

_ Actually, six,  _ is what Aaron wants to say. _ There’s a lot you don’t know _ . Instead, he busies himself with straightening the files on his desk. “What can I do for you, Reid?” 

...

It’s JJ and Garcia who organize the Superbowl Party. They’re  _ more _ than excited about it, and Emily feels obligated to attend, since they’ve been nothing but welcoming to her since her very first day. It’s made her first few months with the team tolerable, and it’s the least she can do as a thank you. 

Because of them, she  _ doesn’t _ feel as alienated as she had on the first day in the briefing room when Aaron had all but dismissed her in front of the entire team. She’s still an outsider, but at least she knows she has someone in her corner, for the time being. 

Even so, she isn’t exactly looking forward to it. A bar on one of the biggest drinking nights of the year in America isn’t quite her idea of fun anymore. She sucks it up anyway because it’s better than hanging out with a bunch of couples at Allison and Shane’s.  _ No thank you _ .

She finds something semi-passable to wear - her old wardrobe from her Yale days doesn’t quite cut it anymore, and she hasn’t had the wherewithal to go shopping for new clothes since coming home from Europe. It works; it’s not like she’s trying to impress anyone anyway. 

“Whose all coming?” Emily asks casually when JJ picks her up. It’s anything but casual; she’s fishing for information. Experience has taught her it’s best to be prepared in situations like this. “I don’t even know who's playing. I don’t really follow football that much.” 

“You, me, and Garcia, obviously. Morgan, but he won’t stay with us for too long,” JJ says with a wink as she exits onto the highway, and she doesn’t seem to pick up on Emily’s intentions. “He tends to wander. Reid will come but he probably won’t drink a lot. He never does. Gideon is a hard pass, but you probably knew that.” 

_ As she expected. _

“And Hotch mentioned something about coming with Haley if her sister can watch Jack. I thought they had other plans but I guess not.” 

_ Great, _ Emily thinks, briefly closing her eyes. One of the reasons she avoided Allison and Shane’s in the first place was the strong possibility Aaron and Haley would have shown up there.  _ Fucking fantastic, _ she thinks, wishing she could tell JJ to turn the car around. 

“You okay?” JJ gives her a curious look before flicking her eyes back to the road, passing a car going too slowly. 

“Yeah,” Emily breezes, forcing herself to avoid picking at her fingernails. They’re already a mess - there’s not much left to peel away now. “Just in need of a drink.” 

“Aren’t we all?” JJ laughs as she exits off the highway and makes a few turns - right, another right, a left, but Emily isn’t even paying attention at this point. I don’t think you’ve ever met Haley, have you?” 

Emily pretends she doesn’t hear her.

...

“Aaron’s never mentioned you before,” Haley says with a reserved but friendly smile, sipping her beer and picking at the plate of nachos smothered in cheese in the middle of the table. “But you look really familiar to me.” 

Emily fakes the best smile she can, smoothing her hair behind her ear and willing herself not to look at Aaron, who is already on his second beer of the night and working towards a third. She can practically see his pained expression, the hard swallow she knows he’s taking as she tries to come up with an answer that doesn’t sound forced. 

But she doesn’t have to. Reid beats her to it. 

“Wait I thought you two knew each other from years ago,” he says innocently, cutting into the conversation. One drink clearly has already made him buzzed, his voice just slurred enough that he’s not completely sure of what he’s saying. “Isn’t that what you said the other week, Hotch? That you used to work for Emily’s mom or something like that?”

Aaron’s lips press into a thin line; Emily shifts uncomfortably in her seat, picking at her ragged fingernails. “ _ Years _ ago, Reid,” he says tightly, his face reflecting the same discomfort in Emily’s. 

Haley’s face darkens, her eyes darting between Aaron and Emily, the answers to several years worth of questions lingering between all three of them in some tangled, fucked up love triangle start to emerge. The bar suddenly erupts in raucous cheers from fans watching the game. In those few seconds, Emily downs half of her drink, ignoring the disapproving look she gets from Aaron. 

_ You can’t get too drunk _ , she reminds herself.  _ That would be bad. _

“I see,” Haley says suspiciously, pushing her plate away towards the middle of the table, her smile gone. 

“It was years ago,” Emily offers awkwardly, knowing she should probably just keep her mouth shut. “I was away at college for most of it.” 

“Wait, so you knew Bossman in his  _ early _ days?” Penelope cuts in, resting her chin on her hand, suddenly  _ very _ interested in the conversation she hasn’t been paying all that much attention to since they sat down. “Tell me  _ details _ , please. Have you ever seen him  _ not _ wear a suit?” She practically leans right over Haley as she asks her questions, and Emily can see Haley’s lips curl in annoyance.  _ Where the hell did JJ go? _

“Emily, I’m waiting,” Penelope says impatiently, finishing whatever is left in her glass. 

_ Fuck. This is going downhill fast.  _

Emily glances at Aaron and then Haley, suddenly wishing the floor would swallow her hole. Haley’s stare is relentless and unforgiving; Aaron’s jaw is set hard. It’s like they’ve all been caught in an intimate moment, exposed and raw, all their  _ fucking feelings _ laid out on the table. “I ah -” 

Luckily something else has happened on the TV - the game that none of them are even watching at this point -, and the bar explodes again, with people shouting and drinks flying and somehow half a beer gets dumped on Haley. At this point she looks like she’s ready to scream or cry. Emily can’t say she blames her, all things considered. She’d probably cry too if she wasn’t so damn good at compartmentalizing by now. Aaron just looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Emily can’t say she blames him, either. 

“Has anyone seen Morgan or JJ?” Aaron deliberately tries to change the subject but it’s no use. Penelope and Reid are suddenly nowhere to be found; it’s just the three of them at the table now, left in an uncomfortable, revealing silence. 

“Excuse me,” Haley says curtly, grabbing her bag and coat, shoving her arms through the sleeves. 

Emily meets Aaron’s eyes as she makes a beeline for the door. It’s laced with the silent understanding that comes along with years of intimacy and history. The innate knowledge of another person’s feelings and emotions, the ability to anticipate what they need, even if they don’t know it themselves. “I think you need to follow her,” she says quietly. 

Aaron is torn between them both, and the overwhelming need to pretend like nothing is wrong, like his wife didn’t connect every dot that’s been missing for the past several years. And of course, when he stares down at his hand to look at the gold ring on his finger, he  _ knows _ he should go after her. But his legs just won’t work. 

“Go get your wife, Aaron.” Emily grabs her drink and practically leaps off her barstool, putting as much distance between them as she can. “Don’t follow me.” She makes a beeline for the middle of the thickening crowd, disappearing into a swarm of people, in a desperate attempt to find JJ.

His mind wins over his heart this time, not that he has a choice, and he grabs his coat on afterthought as he hurries out of the bar and into the cold. Luckily, she hasn’t gotten very far - not even completely down the street, so he catches up easily in a few long strides.

“Haley, wait!” 

“I’m going home, Aaron.” She doesn’t even turn around but she doesn’t need to. He knows what he’ll see in her eyes. An exact replica of what’s in his.  _ Disappointment. Longing. _ “This night is over. I’ll pick up Jack and see you later. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” 

“Where is this coming from?” He reaches for her but Haley just backs away, crossing her arms over her chest.  _ Did someone say something to her? There’s no way she could have figured this out.  _

Haley looks him up and down. “I’m not stupid, Aaron. I’ve always known there was someone else. I just never knew who that someone was. Until tonight.” 

“Someone else? What the hell are you talking about?” 

“Don’t be obtuse, Aaron.” Haley rolls her eyes. “You’ve never been a good liar.” 

He tenses. “I’ve never once lied to you, Haley. I’ve always been faithful to you.”  _ Sure, the second part is true, and maybe the first is, in a way. He’s never lied, but he’s never told her the full truth _ **_,_ ** _ either.  _

“That’s not what I meant,” she says, with a hint of sad resignation that he’s never heard before. “I’ve tried to ignore it and pretend like it hasn't been a thing. But I’ve always had a feeling there was something you’ve kept from me.”

“There’s nothing I’ve - “

“She’s the girl you were with the day you moved to Philadelphia.  _ That’s _ the Emily that’s sitting in the bar, isn’t it?”

_ So she does remember.  _

“You told me,” Haley says, all the pieces starting to fall into place. “You told me when we first got together you’d been with someone and it didn’t work out because they weren’t ready to commit. That’s all you ever said. You never said  _ you _ were over it.”

He remembers that conversation perfectly. He remembers all of them, really. “I thought it was implied.” 

“So did I. For a little while, at least. But … Aaron, be honest. Have you ever stopped thinking about her? In all the years we’ve been together?” 

Aaron freezes, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “There was a reason it didn’t work out with her, Haley. That’s why we’re not together. That’s why I’m with you.” 

She shakes her head. “You can’t even answer my question, can you?” 

“You’re my  _ wife, _ Haley. I love you.” 

“I’m sure you do. But something tells me you’ve never stopped loving her either.” 

“That’s … that’s ridiculous.” He wishes he sounded more convincing. He wishes he’d never agreed to come to this little get together in the first place. What he  _ should _ say is that he  _ doesn’t  _ love Emily. But he can’t. “I never expected to see her again, let alone show up in the BAU.” 

“So you mean to tell me it’s _just_ _a coincidence_ Emily shows up to work for you one day? Was this planned? Did you have something to do with this?” Her eyes are full of hurt, as if every passing minute is another missing piece of the puzzle. 

“No, Haley. I didn’t. I received the paperwork one day. The next day, she was in my office.” 

“And you didn’t see anything  _ wrong _ with that? You didn’t think about a transfer, a new unit? You didn’t say  _ no? _ ” 

“I don’t really have a say in those matters, Haley,” he says softly.  _ At least that part isn’t a lie.  _

“How long has she worked for you, Aaron?”

He swallows. “Two months?” 

“That explains a lot.” She scoffs at his curious stare. “You’ve been moody, distant, and distracted for awhile now. I chalked it up to stress at first but …it seems like a strange coincidence, don’t you think?” 

“I think this has gone too far.” Aaron decides. “If we just go home and - “

“We agree on something,” Haley says quietly, cutting him off. “I’m going to Jessica’s. I need some space for a little bit. I won’t be coming home tonight.” 

“Haley, we need to talk this over. We can figure this out and - “ 

“Hotch!” There’s a familiar voice behind him; he recognizes it as JJ’s. When he turns around, she’s waving to him from the entrance of the bar, not even wearing her coat but her phone is in her hand, and he doesn’t even have to ask to know why she’s calling his name.  _ There’s a case. Someone, somewhere, needs them. Someone always does. _

“Go, Aaron.” Haley is barely a shadow on the street at this point, her arms are wrapped tightly around herself. “I know the drill.” 

He nods, knowing there’s little he can even do or say at this point to make things remotely better. “I’ll call you when we land.” 

…

Somehow he ends up sitting next to Emily on the plane to Atlanta, and he’s fairly certain it’s the longest goddamn flight of his life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, as always <3 Stay tuned for chapter 37 coming soon!


	37. Thirty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It reminds me of the old you,” she says softly. “It’s good to see you still bend the rules from time to time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2021, my friends. Here we are for 37, which takes us through season 2 and early season 3. The chapter title is one of my all time favorite songs and bands. I’m still recovering from when I saw the Goo Goo Dolls perform this live in concert a very long time ago. In semi-related music news, I added all the chapter title songs to a playlist on Spotify called WSNE, if you want to check that out. It’s an ongoing work in progress but all the chapters up to this point should be on there. Lmk if you can’t find it. Thank you for all of your love on the last chapter, and on tumblr, too. Reading your messages & comments made my week. You are all so very kind, and never fail to make me smile. As always, enjoy <3

**Chapter 37: Here Is Gone**

_ And I don't need the fallout _

_ Of the past that's in between us _

_ And I'm not holding on _

_ And all your lies weren't enough to keep me here _

What feels like the entirety of the two hour flight to Atlanta is really only twenty minutes. Aaron is unsettled and anxious before they even land, and much to his chagrin, it’s obvious. He finally can’t stand sitting next to Emily a moment longer, either. “Excuse me,” he says brusquely, brushing past her, Morgan and Reid in an attempt to get as far away from her as possible. 

“What’s wrong with Hotch?” Reid wonders innocently, sipping from a bottle of water, clearly still recovering from the two drinks he’d had at the bar. Aaron barely hears Morgan’s response, nor does he see Emily’s indifferent shrug. 

He attempts to call Haley from the back of the plane, assuring an overcurious JJ that everything is in fact just fine, and they  _ certainly  _ hadn’t been fighting on the street just hours before. He’s not at all surprised when Haley doesn’t answer the phone. She hasn’t answered all night. 

“It looked like something was up,” JJ offers gently, but kindly, prodding him in the way that only she can, after their years of working together.  _ If only you knew what was up, JJ. _ “You sure everything is okay? Jack is okay? Haley’s good?”

“Everything’s fine,” he says stiffly, doing his best to look in any direction other than Emily’s from over JJ’s shoulder across the plane.  _ Damnit, _ he curses softly as another call is ignored.  _ This makes five,  _ he thinks, shoving the phone in his pocket.  _ She’s doing this on purpose _ .

Aaron swallows with annoyance at how seemingly  _ unaffected _ Emily is by the last couple of hours. She’s chatting easily with Reid; she’s been doing so for the last half hour. There’s a coffee cup resting in her hands, she’s changed her shirt, and most of the makeup she’d been wearing at the bar is gone from her face. She looks younger, and if he stares too long, it takes him back a few years.  _ Don’t go there _ , he thinks as he clenches his hands into fists in the pockets of his pullover. She’s put her work watch back on, changed into more appropriate shoes. He hates himself for noticing these tiny details, because he  _ shouldn’t _ notice anything about her at all. But there he is, sneaking glances at her while JJ asks him about his  _ wife _ . 

“Really, Hotch, if you need to take some time and call Haley to figure things out, we can manage for a little while. We’re going to brief the case a bit before we land, and try to get some sleep I guess.” 

“I’m fine, JJ.” Aaron steps past her and strides down the narrow aisle back towards his team, finding them all stretched out across the seats. “Let’s get started.”

“Wait what’s wrong with Haley? Something’s wrong?” Reid asks, looking up from the book in his lap with sudden interest. “Is everything okay? You look like hell, Hotch. Are you feeling alright?” 

It’s then Emily finally lifts her head, subtly meeting Aaron’s gaze, and he stares right back at her for a full five, uninterrupted seconds. “Everything is  _ fine _ . I’m fine,” he says firmly, not for the first time, shutting them all down, not missing the curious expression that paints Reid’s face, and JJ’s confusion. “What do we know?” He asks, taking a seat across from Reid and Emily, hoping his ashen appearance doesn’t give away the fact that  _ nothing _ at the current moment is fine. 

There’s a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, and it’s not just about the case. 

...

Aaron finds her, sitting in the dark of all places, outside Tobias Henkel’s house, almost two full days later, after almost everything has gone straight to hell but not yet come back. It’s the first time they’ve actually had a moment alone together since arriving in Atlanta, despite working alongside each other for the better part of the trip. Everything about this case only gets creepier, Reid is still missing, and there isn’t much to go off of at the moment, despite their sheer desperation to get him back. Aaron had insisted they all get some sleep, which they’d agreed to do in shifts, in case anything should happen during the night. 

“Garcia will be here in the morning,” he says into the dark, scrambling for something to say that doesn’t sound forced. She doesn’t turn around but he knows she heard him, judging by how her back visibly tensed at the scrape of his shoes against the porch. “She’s taking the first flight out in a few hours.” 

“Good.” Emily still doesn’t turn around. On a normal day, he would blame her indifference on the stress of the case. While this situation is anything  _ but _ typical for them, he’s no fool to the fact there are other issues at hand. Enough issues to fill an entire fucking book, actually. Aaron knows he should leave her alone, give her some space, maybe even attempt to get some rest himself. But he does just the opposite, instead coming to sit down beside her.

“Have you slept at all since we got here?” He didn’t see her sleep on the plane at all, even when most of them were able to for a few minutes here and there. The dark circles under her eyes tell him the exact answer to his question. 

“What do you think?” Emily asks snarkily, not bothering to hide the fact she’s exhausted and drained. It’s the first time since they got to Atlanta he’s seen her perfectly cool, collected demeanor waver even a bit. “How’d you find me out here?” 

“Lucky guess.” 

“I’ll be fine,” she says. “I just need a few minutes before going back in there.” She stifles a yawn with her fist, presses her fingers into her eyes. “I haven’t been this tired in a long time.” 

“Let me get you some coffee.” He looks around, helplessly.  _ We’re in the middle of nowhere, _ Aaron reminds himself.  _ Where the hell am I going to find coffee around here? _

“Where the hell are you going to find coffee? Going to just march into the kitchen and make some?” She rolls her eyes. “I can take care of myself, Aaron. I’ve been doing it for a long time. I can go a few hours without sleep.” 

He sighs deeply, resigning himself to the fact that he’s not going to get anywhere with her tonight. “Take a few more minutes. I’ll be inside.” He stands to leave, but Emily suddenly reaches for his arm, her fingers tightening around the sleeve of his jacket, holding fast. It surprises him so much he actually sits back down, a few inches closer to her this time. “What is it?” 

“This one isn’t going to end well, is it?” Emily asks, scraping a hand through her hair, unable to look him in the eyes. She’s staring off into the dark. “Do you ever just have a bad feeling? About a case?” 

“All the time,” Aaron murmurs, willing himself not to reach for her hand, because she hasn’t been this close to him in  _ years _ and all he wants to do now is  _ fucking _ touch her. “I just don’t show it.” 

“Maybe not, but you  _ do _ look like shit, you know. Reid was right on the plane.” 

“Thanks,” he says sardonically. “It’s already been a hell of a day. A few days, really.” 

“You don’t say,” Emily retorts. She’s still holding his sleeve in her fingers, her face ghostly pale. “I don’t even know what day it is at this point.” She chuckles, but there’s no humor in it at all. 

“None of this was supposed to happen, you know. The other day, I mean.” It feels so wrong to even have this discussion when Reid is still missing, and JJ is a mess, not to mention the whole case is going nowhere fast. There’s more pressing issues at hand, yet, he can’t help himself. His mind briefly goes to Haley; he’s only heard from her once since they arrived in Atlanta, in a _very_ short conversation, assuring him that Jack was okay. 

“What did you think would have happened when our paths crossed?” Emily sounds even more drained now, as if she’s been asking herself the same thing in her own mind over and over again, trying to make sense of it all. “You thought we’d just give each other a big hug? That everything would be fine?” 

“I never considered it, to be honest.” 

“You didn’t  _ ever _ think she’d put it together? Come on, Aaron.” 

“I never thought about it,” he says, almost sounding helpless. “She wasn’t even supposed to come with me.”

Emily laughs bitterly. “But she did. And look how well that turned out.” 

“She doesn’t know the full story, you know. About us. She still doesn’t.” 

Emily shakes her head in disbelief. “Wow, that makes me feel so much better.” She scoffs, runs a hand through her hair with a sigh. Why are we even talking about this?” 

“That’s not how I meant it, and you know that.” 

Her voice is full of hurt even though she’s doing her best not to show it. “Well, clearly Haley’s a lot smarter than you are. She figured it out almost immediately. Maybe you aren’t as clever as you think.” 

_ Aaron can’t help but think she’s exactly right. _ A silence falls over them, both lost in their own thoughts for a brief moment. A brief moment of honesty, perhaps the most they’ve been since she’s returned.

He speaks first. “You’re not going to ask what happened before we left?” 

“No.” Emily wraps her jacket a little tighter around herself, her foot starting to tap on the ground.  _ Her tell _ , he observes. _ She’s nervous _ . “It’s none of my business, really.” 

“Things haven’t been good for a while now. We’ve been fighting a lot … before Sunday, even. My hours. The job. She hates the fact I’m never home with her and Jack.” He doesn’t even know why he’s telling her any of this. She’s right - it  _ isn’t _ any of her business. One way or another, it’s too late to take it back now. “We weren’t even going to go out at all but -” 

“Aaron, please spare me.” Emily holds up her hand, shifting a few more inches away from him. “I don’t need or want to hear details about your marriage. Don’t insult me by giving me the dirt on the woman you  _ cheated _ on me with.” 

He stares at her, mouth agape.  _ Is that what she thinks? Is that what she’s always assumed? _ “I never cheated on you, Emily,” he says softly, honestly. “Haley and I didn’t get together until after we ended things.” 

“You mean when  _ you  _ ended things with  _ me _ ,” she corrects him sharply. “Don’t rewrite history, Aaron.” 

“You know I wouldn’t have done that to you.” 

“You certainly did more than enough, though.” Emily wishes she could take the pain out of her voice. “What’s one more twist of the knife at this point?” 

“Emily,” he begins, wishing he’d never found her out here in the first place. 

“You never did tell me why, you know. What made you break it off.” 

“Emily, we shouldn’t talk about this now -”

“Why not? We’re in the middle of  _ fucking _ nowhere, Aaron. It’s not like either of us are going to sleep anytime soon. You’re here. I’m here. May as well just air it all out.” Emily snaps, twisting her watch around her wrist angrily. 

He takes a long breath, then exhales, rings forming in the cool air. “I … I wanted more, Emily. I wanted _you_ , in a way you were clearly unwilling to try. I wanted to start a life with you, with a new career. You were away at school and things were so … we didn’t _talk_ about things. Time passed and nothing … it wasn’t working.”

“So it’s all because of me?” She snorts defensively, clearly unimpressed at his revelation. “That’s rich, Aaron. Even coming from you.” 

“That’s not what I said. I know you were afraid, and I was too caught up in my own thing to see it for what it was. I was tired of waiting for you to decide what you wanted.” He doesn’t miss the way she shifts a few inches away from him again, or the way she tightens her grip on her own wrist. “Eventually, I couldn’t do it anymore. Haley came along and she wanted the same things I did, or so I thought. It  _ seemed  _ like the right thing to do at the time.” 

“I wanted you, you know.” It comes out as practically a whisper. “I thought you knew that.”

“But did you? Or did you just want the  _ idea  _ of me, Emily?”

Her eyes widen, his assumption catching her off guard. What she’s always known is that it’s  _ partly _ true. She  _ had _ strung him along, because she’d been too afraid to admit how she’d truly felt, and had been unwilling to take the risk. And because of that fear, she paid an unbearable price. 

“I know I hurt you, Emily, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you had the -”

Emily’s head snaps to the side, her hair falling over her shoulder like a sheet, and she clamps her hand over mouth, suppressing the tears that are already brewing, withering into herself. “Aaron,” she starts, her voice thick. “Stop,” she says warningly, and he can hear the sob threatening to escape. “Not here, please. Please not here.” 

“… when you lost the baby. I would have come, you know that, don’t you?” He can feel her tense beside him, yet she doesn’t move, as if she’s frozen in place, the unresolved grief starting to take over. His  _ own _ grief feels foreign, as if he’s mourning something he has no place doing, something he had only a peripheral view of in the first place.

“Please don’t, Aaron,” she chokes, trying her very best to keep her wits together.  _ You cannot cry here, _ she tells herself harshly.  _ Not here. Not here. _ “Please, don’t bring it up.” She feels flushed and hot, like she can’t get enough air. It’s been a long time since she even allowed herself to think about  _ that _ . She can’t go there. It’s tucked away in a little box somewhere in her mind, sealed shut, along with most of her other memories of  _ him _ . This one just happens to be the most painful, the heaviest box of them all. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly when he sees the raw pain in her eyes, knowing he caused it, having overstepped whatever delicate boundary is left between the two of them. “I’m sorry, Emily. I - I didn’t mean to.” He’s shaking his head regretfully. “I regret not being there.” 

“Well, looks like you don’t have to worry about it now, do you? It all worked out for  _ you _ in that sense, didn’t it?” She’s referring to Jack; her reaction tells him all he needs to know. He should have known better to bring it up. She’s shaking, even though she’s attempting to pretend she’s just cold, her eyes turned away from him as she peels at her fingernails again, picking at what’s left, which isn’t much, as they start to crack and bleed.

“Stop,” Aaron says, desperate for a way to calm her somehow, reaching for her hand, his fingers closing around her wrist with more tenderness than he intended. “That can’t feel good at all.” He’s half expecting her to pull away but to his surprise, she doesn’t, letting her hand rest in his grasp for a few seconds.

“I don’t feel a thing.” It’s a lie. She feels the warm trickle of blood coming from her ragged cuticles, and the sting of the torn skin. She also feels the touch of his fingers against hers, which makes her shiver all over again, but this time it’s not because of the cold. 

“You’re bleeding,” he says softly, reaching into his pocket for a tissue. “Here. use this.” But instead, he’s the one who dabs the blood away. “I have band aids in my go-bag in the car. Stay here. I’ll go get them.” 

“We should get back inside,” she tells him, ignoring his offer, pulling her wrist from his hand. “They’re going to be looking for us soon.” She rises to her feet quickly, turning away even faster, before disappearing into the house as if nothing ever happened, leaving him alone in the dark behind her.

...

Emily finds JJ in the bathroom, her gun wielded in her hands, and it doesn’t take a genius to see she’s clearly having some kind of flashback or something. It’s also not the first time JJ has pulled a gun on her since they’d arrived at Tobias Hankel’s house. There’s terror in her eyes; Emily knows it all too well. 

She attempts to calm her down, mentioning her meeting with Hankel’s acquaintance from Narcotics Anonymous. It’s the least she can do, and when JJ agrees, albeit reluctantly, Emily turns to go, in an attempt to get some sleep herself. 

“Emily?” 

“Yeah?” 

“How come none of this gets to you?” She looks confused, lost, and  _ scared _ . 

“What do you mean?” In that moment she feels terrible for JJ. The anguish of the last few hours, Reid’s abduction and the blame she places on herself is abundantly obvious.  _ We need to find him _ , Emily thinks ruefully.  _ This is only going to get worse the longer he’s gone _ . She knows all about guilt and blame.  _ Eventually, you just get used to it.  _

“You came off a desk job, and now you’re suddenly in the field, surrounded by mutilated bodies, and you don’t even flinch.” It’s the innocent disbelief that makes Emily feel a touch of guilt.  _ Is that what’s in my file? _

“She’s right. You’ve never blinked,” comes Aaron’s voice from behind them both, equal parts complimentary yet solemn, and Emily feels put on the spot, as if he’s testing her. 

_ Where did he even come from?  _

“I guess … maybe I compartmentalize better than most people.”  _ I’ve never had a choice.  _ She doesn’t elaborate, no. She’ll never reveal her secrets.

Aaron’s stare lingers just long enough for her to know the wheels are turning in his head. But she doesn’t care if he’s satisfied with her answer. It doesn’t matter anyway. 

“Guys! I got something!” 

Morgan is calling them, the urgency in his voice clear. With a sigh of relief to be let off the hook, Emily makes a dash for the door, leaving Aaron and JJ in her wake. 

…

She’s never wanted to leave anywhere as much as she wants to get the fuck out of Atlanta, Georgia. Then again, they all do, that much is clear. But they decide to spend the night at the hotel about twenty minutes from the graveyard where they’d found Reid **,** because they could all use the rest. Aaron and Gideon go with him to the hospital, and Emily heads back with the rest of the team, helping JJ get settled in for what is most likely going to be another long, sleepless night.

The team barely says a word to each other as they board the plane the next morning, and even less after takeoff.  _ What else is there to say? _

They’re all keeping a watchful eye on Reid, who eventually falls asleep a few minutes into the flight, his face twisted and contorted in varying degrees of distress. No doubt the events of the last few days have  _ finally _ caught up with him, she thinks, wishing she could do  _ something _ to erase the hours of torture he’d endured at the hands of Tobias Henkel. Clearly he’s putting on a brave front - he has since they left - but there’s no hiding the fact that the next couple of weeks will be  _ tough _ , the ultimate test of his will _.  _

Emily is gazing out the window when Aaron slides into the empty seat across from her, two cups of coffee in his hands. He passes one to her, and she takes it appreciatively with a small smile. “Hey.” 

“Hi.” She glances between the coffee and him, then back out the window. If she has any interest in talking to him, she’s doing a damn good job of hiding it. 

“You holding up okay?” He asks, searching her face for any indication to the contrary. 

“I’m fine,  _ Hotch,”  _ she says, as if using his last name instead of his first proves her point. “Just want to get home.” 

“Me too,” he agrees, sipping his coffee yet keeping his eyes on her. “It’s been a hellish couple of days.” 

“Did you need something?” Her bluntness is a surprise even though it shouldn’t be. They haven’t had another moment alone since the other day, and since that ended  _ so well _ , he should know better. She’s clearly in no mood for small talk. 

“Did you mean what you said? Back at Tobias Henkel’s house?”  _ May as well get right to the point _ . 

“What do you mean?” 

“That I don’t trust women the same as I trust men. Did you mean what you said?” 

She shrugs casually, noticing the way his jaw tenses at her reserve. “I wasn’t lying.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Does it matter anymore?” 

“It matters to me what you think.” 

“Is that so?” She lifts an eyebrow, regarding him with an expression he can’t read. “That’s surprising. You  _ shouldn’t _ care what I think at all.” 

“You’re part of my team, aren’t you? Doesn’t that mean I  _ should _ value your opinion?” 

“I suppose that makes sense.” Emily passes the coffee cup between her hands, looking just past his shoulder to where Reid is snoring softly. “I’m glad he’s finally asleep.” She changes the subject altogether, and he just goes with it. 

“It’s going to be a tough few weeks for him,” Aaron says in agreement.

“He’ll get through it. Somehow … we don’t have another choice, do we?” Emily says pointedly **.**

There’s so much he wants to ask her, but now isn’t the time. Instead, Aaron looks at his phone, absentmindedly scrolling through the call log, Haley’s name at the very top a reminder of the fact that maybe they shouldn’t be having a conversation in the first place. 

“Have you heard from her?” Emily doesn’t turn away from the window; she doesn’t have to. It’s like she can read his mind.  _ She’s always seen right through him. _

“A few times,” he admits, feeling guilty for even telling Emily anything at all. After all, he’d  _ promised _ Haley he wouldn’t. Multiple times. “We had a long talk last night after we got back to the hotel. It was a late night.” 

_ Now _ she turns from the window, recrosses her legs, tightening her jacket around her body. “What are you going to do?” Her tone is chilly; her body language even more so. 

“Try to fix my marriage, I guess.” He swallows, wondering if it’s the answer she was looking for, and curses himself for even caring. 

Her eyes float to the gold band on his left hand for the briefest of seconds before she turns back to the window again, signaling the end of the conversation. “Good. I’m glad to hear it” 

…

When he  _ finally _ gets home from Atlanta, Haley is waiting on the couch wearing an oversized sweatshirt and leggings, the TV remote in her hand, but it’s not actually turned on. In fact, the entire living room looks spotless, as if she hasn’t even lived there the last few days. Perched on the side of the large couch, she almost looks out of place, as if she doesn’t belong there. He drops his bag on the group with a heavy sigh.

“How was it?” She asks, not unkindly, yet she doesn’t look  _ happy _ either.  _ Aloof _ might be a good word. “I didn’t know if I should call on the way home … so I didn’t. I thought you might need some time ...” 

_ He’s grateful for that, at least _ . Aaron opens his mouth to speak, unable to find the words to explain just how truly awful the last few days have been, their entire argument in the bar aside. “I … can we talk about it later? I just want to take a shower and go to bed.”

“Is Reid ok?” Haley looks worried - he’d told her only the basic details on the phone the night before, but there aren’t many ways to sugarcoat it besides the truth. “I … I feel awful for him...I can’t imagine.”

“No,” Aaron says, slipping out of his coat and coming over to give her a quick kiss, which seems to placate her just a little. “No. And I don’t think he will be for a while.” 

“I’m sorry, Aaron. That sounds … God I don’t even know what to say.” She puts her mug on the coffee table, pulling her legs to her chest. “I left you some dinner in the fridge.” 

“Thanks,” he attempts, trying to lift his voice a little bit, to match the hopeful hints in hers without much success. “I’m glad you’re here. I thought you might still be at Jessica’s.” 

“No … we came home … earlier today. I wanted to talk to you, about everything.” 

“Haley,” he begins, doing his best to hide the fact that he's not in the mood for  _ this _ now. “Can we talk about things tomorrow?”

“I thought a lot about it while you were gone, Aaron. About everything. I think I may have … overreacted … the other night in the bar.” 

He turns his head to look at her, to make sure he heard her correctly. “What?” 

“I was a little blindsided, and hurt that you never told me about what happened between you and Emily, but …” she trails off, choosing her words carefully. “But it was bad timing and I wasn’t fair to you. We should have talked about it together, after everything.” 

Her eyes are so full of hope, he has to remind himself that technically, he hasn’t done anything wrong.  _ Except think about Emily constantly since she showed up in your office. And every day before that, too.  _

“You were right. You’ve never given me a reason not to trust you…and maybe I went a little too far. I just … I don’t want to give up on what we have, Aaron. What we’ve created.” Haley looks around their cozy home, the photographs on the walls, momentos everywhere. Remnants of them - their life, their family. What they’ve built over the last few years, when Emily was nothing more than an element of his past. 

“We took vows for a reason, didn’t we?” She looks so optimistic it makes his chest hurt. 

_ Now what?  _

“I should be apologizing -” he attempts weakly, but she cuts him off, continuing what she’s obviously practiced in his absence. “I should have told you … from the beginning.” 

“There’s clearly a reason things didn’t work out with the two of you. You and  _ Emily, _ ” Haley says, practically repeating his words back to him, as if she’s reassuring herself. “You’re  _ my _ husband,” she adds for good measure, scooting closer to him, running her fingers down his cheek. “I’m willing to work on things, and move on from here.” 

It’s  _ not _ the reaction he expected, but … something in his mind tells him it’s what he  _ should _ do, regardless of the pit that settles in his stomach. “Okay,” he agrees, coming to sit beside her. Haley is beaming; she hardly notices that he practically slumps with defeat right into the couch. “Let’s try. And I promise, no more putting cases before family. I shouldn’t have just left without speaking to you first.” 

“I knew we could figure it out, Aaron,” Haley says happily, tucking her feet onto his lap. “I’m so glad you’re home.” 

“Onward and upward,” he says, pushing himself to smile as brightly as he can He wraps an arm around Haley’s shoulders as she snuggles into his side, yet for some reason he can’t quite explain, it feels like two steps in the very wrong direction.

…

They’re about to leave for New York about ten days after returning from Atlanta, when Haley shows up in the BAU of all places. She’s walking with a purpose, her hair in a bouncy ponytail that matches her step, a smile on her face, and before Emily realizes what’s happening, she’s standing less than ten feet away from her desk. Pretending not to see her, she digs around in one of the drawers, pretending to look for a pen or something, but it’s too late. Haley’s already seen her. 

“Haley! What are you doing here?” JJ greets her with a big hug, appearing out of nowhere. “We just got a case …I didn’t know you were coming in.” 

“Oh, Aaron forgot his wallet,” Haley breezes, looking around casually, regarding Emily with a cool smile. “Hello, Emily. Nice to see you again. Is he around somewhere?” 

“I think he’s upstairs,” JJ gestures in the direction of Aaron’s office. “We’re getting ready to leave soon. You might be able to catch him.” 

“I know. He asked me to drop it off. Busy morning,” she says with a wink in their direction, and Emily fights to roll her eyes at the implication of the words. 

“Glad to see things are better between them,” JJ chirps, entirely unaware of the fact Emily is already halfway out the door. 

She’s getting her bag from her car when Aaron comes up beside her not long after that. “Hey.” 

Emily turns around briefly, regarding him with disinterest. “Hey. What’s up?” 

“I’m sorry about Haley. I told her to meet me by my car.” He looks apologetic. “She wasn’t supposed to come in.” 

“What are you talking about, Aaron?” She pushes a piece of hair behind her ear, not anywhere close to wanting to deal with him, this conversation. “If you think I’m upset because I saw Haley, you’re very mistaken.” She slams the door shut with a little more force than necessary. “Let it go.” 

“We’re working things out,” he offers unnecessarily, yet it sounds strained, and he wonders if she even believes him at all. 

“Good,” Emily says, grabbing her bag and walking in the opposite direction. “I’m glad to hear it.” There’s nothing about her tone that sounds remotely glad, but she smiles anyway. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time she’s lied in her life.

**…**

There isn’t much about this job that actually gets to her. Sure, the cases are grisly, sometimes downright disturbing, and every now and then, one will stay with her longer than she’d like. But, as experience has taught her, it’s about pushing it aside and away in her mind, never revisiting it ever again. There’s a man that taught her that, one with eyes bluer than a sapphire and a voice that made her knees weak, but technically, that part of her doesn’t exist anymore.  _ It never will _ . 

Fire is something she still hasn’t gotten used to. It’s such an inhumane way to go, not an ounce of pain spared, gruesome to the very last moments, a sure means to an undeserved end. She’s fairly certain San Francisco will haunt her for a while, and that’s  _ before _ they even interview Mrs. Cutler. 

“So she doesn’t know?” Emily blinks, shaking her head in disbelief at the doctor’s words in the middle of the cramped hospital hallway, putting the pieces together of just what they’re about to do. “Did she just tell us to lie to a material witness?” 

“No. She told us that we could.” Aaron doesn’t look pleased either, but he’s done this many times before, she reminds herself as they prepare to interview the woman whose family perished in the blaze.

“I’ll do the talking,” Aaron tells her right before they go in, and all she can do is nod a quick affirmation of thanks, because she’s seen the photographs and the evidence and her stomach is already starting to churn. For once, she’s grateful he knows her so innately, even if it breaks her heart. He senses it too, reaching out with a hand on her arm that feels too gentle to be professional. “You ready?” 

“I can handle it.” She swallows, taking a nervous glance around, a clear indicator she isn’t quite ready at all. 

“If you need to step out, go ahead.”  _ He knows exactly how she feels about hospitals; surely this isn’t easy for her. _

“I’ll be fine,” she says crisply, turning away, steeling herself.

_ It’s even worse than she anticipated, _ and listening to the dying woman recount the bits and pieces she can remember, in so much agony, is horrifying and downright haunting. Emily expects that, though. What she  _ doesn’t _ expect is for Aaron to blatantly lie when Mrs. Cutler asks for her husband and son. 

“They’re just outside in the waiting room,” he says kindly, in a tone she’s heard before. Aaron throws a quick, knowing glance in Emily’s direction, expecting her to play along. 

“I don’t want them to see me like this.” 

Emily’s stomach twists again; her mind goes back several years ago when she told Aaron almost the same thing. The circumstances had been very different, but the desperation the same. If she closes her eyes while she can almost  _ feel _ the fresh pain that had radiated through her own face at the time once more, so she keeps them open, her stare fixed on Mrs. Cutler and Aaron.

“Agent Prentiss will tell them. I can stay with you, until you’re ready. If you’d like.” It’s his unique way of shouldering the burden for them both, giving Emily the out she so desperately needs, while giving their witness a few final moments of dignity and comfort. It’s so heart-achingly the Aaron she knows that has to look away, quickly darting out of the room. 

“I’d like that.” 

From the window Emily watches Aaron stay at Mrs. Cutler’s side, doing everything he can to keep the woman calm, and she’s taken back to the same night a few years ago once again, when he did a similar act for her. When he finally emerges, his expression grim, his eyes find her first, only to see her staring right back. “What?”

“You did a good thing, you know.” 

“What do you mean?” He’s pulling himself together; clearly the last half an hour has ruffled his typically unflappable exterior.

“Staying with her, comforting her.” 

“She shouldn’t have been alone. It won’t be long now, anyway.” He catches her still staring. “Why do you say that? What’s wrong?”

“It reminds me of the old you,” she says softly. “It’s good to see you still bend the rules from time to time.”

…

San Francisco takes longer than anyone anticipated, because two days later, they’re  _ still _ trying to find this bastard who keeps lighting people on fire with seemingly little warning.

They have their eyes on a potential unsub when Aaron’s phone rings in the car that afternoon, and Emily doesn’t have to ask to know the person he’s calling on the other line is Haley. For a brief moment, she contemplates giving him a few minutes of privacy, but it’s raining, neither of them have an umbrella, and she’s not in the mood to wear wet clothes for the rest of the day. So instead, she listens, wondering if Aaron feels as uncomfortable as he does knowing she can hear the whole thing.

It certainly doesn’t sound like a pleasant conversation. He does most of the listening, Haley does most of the talking, and after almost five minutes, he’s apologizing. 

“Honey, I don’t know, but I promise I’ll make it up to you.” 

There are a few more minutes of silence on his end.

“Ok. I love you too.” It’s the clipped tone he uses when he says those three words that makes her curious, even though she shouldn’t be.  _ We’re working it out _ . She remembers what he told her before. Maybe they are, but it certainly doesn’t sound like it’s going well.  _ Maybe you should mind your own business, Emily _ , she chides herself.

“Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” he says maybe a little too quickly.  _ Interesting,  _ she thinks.”You know. The usual stuff. It’s hard when I’m not there … for them both. I’ve been trying to call throughout the day whenever I have a few minutes. Just to check in.” 

“You don’t have to justify to me why you’re calling your wife, Aaron,” Emily says, pointedly turning away from him, moving as far as possible to the passenger side door. “It’s none of my business, anyway.” 

Her validation, if it can be called such, doesn’t make him feel any better.

In fact, it has the opposite effect. 

…

She’s in the middle of a briefing, a few weeks later, when she glances out the window down into the bullpen, and what Emily sees stops her right in her tracks. At first, she wonders if she’s imagining things. _Unfortunately, no. She wouldn’t be that lucky._ A double take tells her she isn’t hallucinating. Elizabeth Prentiss, with two unfamiliar women flanking her on either side, is actually in the middle of the BAU, her face determined, her back stiff as a rod. 

_ What in fresh hell?  _ She thinks, hurrying out of the door and leaning over the railing. “Mother?” 

“Hello, Emily.” 

…

As it turns out, there  _ is _ in fact a reason why she’s there, and it’s  _ not _ a good one. 

“Ambassador Prentiss,” Aaron says smoothly, after a tearful Mrs. Chernus and Natalya have been escorted out of his office. Emily is almost impressed with how easily he answers her mother’s every question, each pushback, without as much as a blink. If he’s uncomfortable, he certainly isn’t showing it. In fact, the opposite is true. He hasn’t missed a beat since his old boss showed up in his office, demanding his every last resource on less than a moment’s notice. “I can assure you we’ll do all we can to help. But there are back channels we need to go through in order to do this properly.”

“Thank you, Agent Hotchner.” Her mother gives them both a pinched stare,  _ years _ of tension threatening to explode the middle of the BAU.  _ Nothing _ would be worse. “I also appreciate your every discretion with this matter.” 

Aaron only nods, catching Emily’s eye from the across the room.  _ As if discretion ever worked before.  _

In the end, they decide to take on the case, and Emily agrees to help her mother look through some old records. It’s tense, with only a few short exchanges between them both, before Emily finally can’t take it anymore. Elizabeth has been giving her  _ that  _ look - the one Emily’s seen too many times before. Disapproval, of course, but she’s not surprised at all. 

“Mother, if you have a problem, you may as well just say it.” 

“Emily, I think you know exactly what my issue is,” Elizabeth says sharply, folding her hands demurely, looking up from her computer screen for the first time in a few long moments. 

“Mother, really,” Emily begins, doing her best to remain patient. This case isn’t going to resolve itself; she needs to keep her head in the game. “This isn’t something we need to discuss right now.” 

“Put yourself in my shoes for a moment, Emily. Imagine what it’s like, as your  _ mother _ , to come to you for help, only to realize your  _ boss _ is not just one of my former employees, but the same one you chose to have a relationship with several years ago.”

“Mother, I’m begging you, not now,” Emily begs through clenched teeth, already feeling the pain starting to radiate through her jaw. “We don’t have time for this.” 

“Imagine how that looks, Emily.”

“How  _ what _ looks, Mother? No one  _ knows _ anything.” 

“No, but could you  _ imagine  _ if they did?” Elizabeth purses her lips, not bothering to hide her disdain. “Have you thought of how that would tarnish your reputation?”

“Luckily, they’ll never find out.” Emily paints a fake smile on her face, feeling much closer to her nineteen year old self than she has in a long time. “Things are different, Mother. He’s  _ married  _ now.” 

Elizabeth waves her hand, already appearing disinterested in the topic, yet she peers at Emily from over the tops of her glasses. “And how are you enjoying your assignment at the BAU, all things aside?” 

“Enjoying is an odd description.” Emily shoots back. 

“Is it?” She taps away at her computer keys with a mere glance in Emily’s direction. 

“We uh, we deal with some pretty horrible things, Mother.”  _ If she only had an idea of what I’ve seen. _

“And that’s where you wanted to be?” 

“It is, definitely.” 

“So you  _ do _ enjoy it.” 

“I’m just saying, enjoying feels wrong.” She can feel herself starting to lose her patience.

“All right. What would you call it?” Elizabeth doesn’t even look up from her screen, but she doesn’t have to.

“Why do we have to end up in an interrogation?”  _ I shouldn’t have even agreed to come here in the first place _ . 

“I’m just saying, Emily. I’ve told you this before, and you didn’t listen to my advice, or else you wouldn't be in this situation.  _ Be careful _ **.”**

**...**

Emily hasn’t felt this suffocated in a very long time. 

_ Everyone _ is in her space, wanting something different, asking too many questions and making demands. The lines between her personal life and work is starting to blur; everything about this case makes her uncomfortable. And now there’s just more bad news, as if they couldn’t use a  _ fucking _ break. 

She  _ needs _ a moment of solace - just one, and maybe a cigarette to take the edge off. 

Before she can stop herself, she’s climbing the steps to the one place she can hide. The one place where no one is smart enough to come looking for her, because they have  _ no _ idea it’s the most logical place for  _ her _ to be. 

Slipping into his darkened office, she shuts the door and leans against the wall, taking a deep breath.

“You can’t hide from her forever, you know.” 

Emily whirls around with a gasp to see Aaron sitting behind his desk, signing a few pieces of paper. “Fuck, I didn’t see you sitting there. What are you doing?” 

“What does it look like?” He gestures to the papers in front of him. “Paperwork doesn’t do itself, you know.” 

“In the dark?” 

“Last I checked, it’s my office.” He meets her eyes with a slight smirk, but the attempt at a joke goes right by her, because she’s clearly on edge. “Are you alright?” 

“Her contacts fell through.” 

“Really?” Even he looks surprised. She wasn’t the only one relying on Ambassador Prentiss. He wants to resolve this just as much as she does. 

“Apparently she’s not infallible,” Emily says dejectedly with a sigh. “Can I stay in here? Just for a little while?”

He drops his pen, clearly understanding exactly why she’s there now. “Is there anything I can do for you?” 

“I just need a few minutes to myself.” She rests her elbows on her knees, puts her chin in her hands. “No matter how old I get, she’s never any less exhausting.” 

“That will probably never change, but your secret is safe with me.” He can’t help but an overwhelming sense of deja vu when she smiles appreciatively. “She came back with you?”

“No. She had a meeting and some calls to make. She told me to call her with an update when we had one. I just got back a little while ago.”

“And how was it?” 

“Fine.” Emily rolls her eyes. “As well as can be expected, I guess, given the circumstances of why she’s here in the first place. She’s trying, which I guess we should be grateful for. She wants to figure this out as much as we do.

He nods, knowing there’s more to this than what she’s saying. 

“She asked me about you, too.” 

_ There it is.  _ “I had a feeling she would. She really had no idea I’m your new boss?” 

“I left that part out when I told her I accepted this job.” 

“I have to say, I’ve never seen her look more shocked,” Aaron says, pushing the folders aside. “Well, actually I have. Once.” 

Emily smiles for the first time in what seems like days. “I wish I had a camera for when she saw you walk in. The look on her face -” she then dissolves into a fit of laughter on the couch, and within a few seconds, Aaron is laughing too. 

It’s the first time they’ve laughed together in years.

He just wishes it didn’t feel so wrong, and little does he know, she’s thinking the exact same thing. 

**…**

She goes to thank him after Elizabeth has finally gone home, with their tentative dinner plans set for next week. It’s the least Emily could offer after her mother’s revelation, and while she isn’t looking forward to it at all, it’s one good deed she can check off her list. 

When she finds him in his office, it’s late - past 6 PM, but he’s still sitting at his desk, staring into space, his phone in his hands. He’s taken his suit jacket off; his sleeves are rolled up and the top buttons of his shirt undone. The blue tie he’d had on earlier is nowhere to be found. Emily  _ hates _ herself for noticing these things; surely she shouldn’t notice such details about someone else’s husband. It’s certainly not the first time she’s noticed things about him. 

“You have a minute?” She pokes her head around the door, her voice low. 

“Maybe two,” Aaron says, his eyebrow quirking upward when he sees her. “You don’t have to whisper. No one else is here, you know.” 

“You’re not on your way out?” She checks her watch, as if he doesn’t already know it’s well past their hours. Everyone else clearly  _ has _ already gone home, judging by the darkness in the bullpen.

“You didn’t go to dinner with your mother? I heard her ask you.” 

She stuffs her hands in her pockets. “I managed to hold her off for a week. Doesn’t explain why you’re still here.” 

He pauses for only a moment but she knows him well enough to catch it by now. There’s a reason, of course. “I’m not leaving just yet. What’s up?” Gesturing for her to come in, he sets the phone down with a deep breath, switching it to silent mode.

“I came to say thank you. For everything … over the last few days. For dealing with my mother … and everything else. You easily could have said no, but you didn’t. You took her on head first”

“Don’t mention it.” He wasn’t actually expecting her to come to him at all, actually. But her words are genuine, honest, and perhaps some of the most vulnerability she’s shown since joining the team. 

“I need to. You helped me out today, and her too. I know it was probably … just as weird for you, if not weirder, to have her here,” Emily trails off. “I appreciate it.”

“It’s not weird,” Aaron says, more convincingly than she thought he would, his face full of understanding. “We treat all cases the same. It’s part of the job.” 

“Either way, I owe you one.”

He gives that warm, knowing smile that crinkles his eyes in the corners, and Emily can’t help but give one right back. “How about a drink? I could go for one.” He asks, already reaching into his desk drawer, pulling out the two glasses, but instead of whiskey, it’s tequila in the bottle. Her favorite brand. There’s not a chance in hell this is even close to a coincidence. Her throat tightens at the implications of it. _He planned this_. 

“Tell me you didn’t get that just -” 

“For you? What if I did?” There’s a familiar glint in his eyes she’s seen before, and it hurts to breathe for a few seconds because it takes her back to places she swore many years ago she’d forget. Before she can answer, he comes to sit next to her on the couch, his left leg pressing against her right, setting their drinks and the bottle on the small table. He’s so close she gets a whiff of cologne, and Emily averts her eyes, letting her gaze rest on her knees. 

“You didn’t have to do this, Aaron.” 

“You’re right.” He’s pouring the tequila into the glasses, his fingers brushing hers when he passes her the glass. “I wanted to. It’s been a long couple of days. Thought you might need a reprieve.” 

“After today” she muses, lifting her glass for a toast. “I could really use a drink. Maybe three.” 

“Let’s start with one. Cheers to surviving the Ambassador again.” He’s smiling when he says it, but there’s so much more to his words than what’s said, and they both know it. 

“Cheers to that,” Emily murmurs, taking a sip, then another one. It’s _good_ tequila, not the cheap kind that will give her a headache in a few hours. It makes her head the slightest bit fuzzy and her entire body warm. If she turns her head just a few inches, she’d _almost_ be able to touch his lips with hers. “And hopefully, not again for a long time.”

“I have a feeling she’ll be back at some point.” Aaron’s hand comes to cover her knee, squeezing gently, but never inching any higher. Her breath catches in her throat and he hears it, but he doesn’t pull away. “What are you thinking?” He asks softly, as if daring her to say what’s really in her mind, and her eyes turn to meet his. 

“That this is a bad idea,” she murmurs, her voice low. “You know it too.” 

It’s not necessarily a permission but he doesn’t seem to need or want one, because it only takes a few heavy, long seconds before his hand is burning on the side of her face, turning her cheek, and his lips are on hers, meeting in a kiss, then another. 

“We shouldn’t,” Emily breathes into his neck, but she’s not doing much at all to stop him. She wants him just as much as he  _ clearly _ wants her, judging by how he’s looking at her, his eyes heated, possessive It’s been  _ years _ since she’s kissed him, but it could have been merely days, as if they picked up right where they left off. “Aaron, the door. It’s unlocked.” 

“Stop,” he growls, using his weight to push her back and down onto the couch, one knee between her legs and the other braced at her hip, keeping her still underneath him as he starts kissing her again, his lips demanding and persistent **. “** God, I’ve been thinking about this since the day you walked -” 

“Shut up, Aaron,” Emily hisses, cupping her hand around the back of his head to bring him closer. “You always talked too much.” She kisses him chastely at first, then not so much, pushing her tongue against his lips, sighing into his mouth. There’s no denying she’s missed this, missed  _ him _ fiercely for the last how many years, as much as she’s tried to deny it. But she can never have him, she reminds herself, gripping his arms with tightly clenched fingers, as he’s kissing her back just as intensely. 

Aaron can’t get enough of her. He’s biting her bottom lip with enough force to bruise while simultaneously dragging his hands through her dark hair, then moving his mouth down her neck, his teeth scraping down the soft skin until it reaches the pale expanse of her collar bones. He seems to forget about the fact he’s going to leave marks all over her neck and chest.

“Aaron,” Emily says nervously, even though she can’t help the arch of her back, or the moan from her throat when he hits a particularly sensitive spot.  _ No marks _ , she’s thinking. “Aaron,” she tries again, a little cry escaping when he bites down just a bit too hard. 

“Emily,” he’s practically panting her name, sucking a bruise into her neck this time. “What is it, sweetheart?” 

_ Sweetheart. I wonder if he calls Haley that _ , is what Emily thinks, and then there’s no denying that what they’re doing is so stupidly, incredibly wrong. It makes her sick to think about, and she’s just as guilty as he is.  _ This has to stop. _ She can’t get away from him fast enough.

“Get off of me. We can’t do this, Aaron.” Emily pushes him away with both hands on his chest, shimmying out from underneath of him and scrambling to her feet less than gracefully. “This is a mistake.”

“Emily -” 

“We can’t do this. You know we can’t.” Emily holds her head with her hands, wishing she could stop the spinning in her brain. She’s not even drunk, but she can’t see straight, she feels dizzy. “You’re married, in case you forgot.” She’s pulling at her clothes and trying to fix her hair, even though it’s probably pointless by now. She’s a mess, literally and figuratively. 

Aaron is at her side, reaching for her hands, capturing them in his own, pinning her arms down. “Look at me,” he’s saying, but she’s having none of it. His eyes are dark and heavy **,** full of guilt but also the unmistakable glaze of lust. It’s how he’s always looked at her, but those days are over. They’ve _been_ over.

“No, Aaron. I’m not doing this with you. I’m not going to be the woman you _use_ when Haley won’t answer her phone **.”** She jerks out of his grasp with more force than she thought she had, crossing the room in three long strides. 

“Emily, please wait.” He feels inordinately guilty, like he owes her an apology, nevermind Haley, who thinks he’s just working late.  _ How could I have been so stupid? _

She turns on her heel at the door, staring at him with disdain. “Don’t worry. Your secret's safe with me, Aaron.  _ Your wife _ won’t find out about this. I promise you that much.” She’s out the door faster than he can blink, leaving him with nothing but the silence for company. 

Maybe it’s what he deserves.

**…**

Things go from bad to worse, and there isn’t much he can do about any of it. 

It’s not just at work, either. He  _ tells _ himself they’re working through things at home. It’s what helps him sleep at night, but it’s anything but that. He’s short with Haley and Jack, terse with the team, and on more than one occasion, finds himself  _ desperately _ in need of a break. But there’s no such relief. 

Haley’s initial optimism of making things work has faded; any glimmer of hope she’d had when he’d returned from Atlanta has dimmed like an old lightbulb. She’s almost always moody, visibly frustrated, and most nights end in some type of disagreement, with both her and Jack in tears. Some days, it doesn’t even seem like  _ she  _ even cares anymore, either. Her mobile phone has rung on more than one occasion, and he hasn’t missed the hesitancy in her face when she hears it, only to ignore it entirely, walking away with a face full of guilt. 

And with Strauss breathing down his neck in Quantico, waiting for him to make one wrong step, there’s not a whole lot of room for error. 

**...**

Emily has already compartmentalized what happened in his office a few weeks ago - that’s for her own sake, and for his too, she rationalizes. It’s not that she hasn’t given it any thought - it’s replayed in her mind almost every night  _ since _ it happened, but it was a mistake, one that can’t happen again. The only thing she can do now is pretend she has it all together, for the sake of her team. 

They go all in for Frank Breitkopf, to finally apprehend the serial killer, but also a last-ditch attempt to keep Gideon from succumbing to the demons of his own mind, and even though they ultimately triumph, it feels anything but that as the dust settles at the train station in Manhattan. 

Strauss’s ultimatum couldn’t come at a worse time. He should be surprised but he isn't **.** She’s always been a bit of a snake, ruthless and striking when ready, often without warning **.** There’s more to the story than what she’s telling him; she has to have eyes somewhere. It’s the only way this makes sense.

**...**

Shortly after they return from Manhattan, Strauss calls her into her office on a rare day off and tells her it’s strictly confidential. Emily knows that whatever reason she’s being called in probably isn’t a good one, but she never expected  _ this _ . 

She’s never trusted Erin Strauss. She hasn’t from the beginning, and all the doubt she’d had from the first day they met feels justified. There’s an air of coldness to her, as if she knows she’s already won. 

“Sit down, Agent Prentiss.” She folds her hands on her desk, peers at Emily from behind her glasses. She regards her for a long moment, purses her lips. “Do you know why you’re here?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

She doesn’t mince words. “There were some who didn’t think assigning you to the BAU was a good idea. But I put you in myself, based on what I heard from your former superiors.”

“I appreciate that, ma’am.” Emily has a sinking feeling there’s much more to this than she initially thought. Strauss is looking at her like a snake ready to strike, rendering her defenseless.

“I believed in you. It’s time to pay back the faith I had.” 

Emily sits still, unflinching, internalizing what Strauss is saying, but more importantly what she  _ isn’t _ and it becomes abundantly clear what she’s being asked to do. She curses herself for not seeing it sooner; it makes perfect, ruthless sense, based on everything that’s happened the last few months with the team. It’s a cruel irony, maybe the cruelest of all, that it’s all falling onto her shoulders. “Your team is in trouble. They’ve lost sight of the big picture; they’re reckless and out of control.” 

_ Nothing could be further from the truth,  _ is what Emily  _ wants _ to say, but instead, she stays quiet. In these situations, she’s learned, it’s best to  _ listen _ and not reveal your hand.

“It’s time for Agent Hotchner’s career to come to an end. And If you want to stay in the BAU, Agent Prentiss, you’re going to help me make that happen.” 

There’s no question in her mind of what to do next. 

She has no other choice. She has to leave. For good. And there’s only one explanation as to why. 

**…**

In the midst of it all, as if he could handle one more thing going wrong, it starts to unravel even more. It’s as if half the team is hanging on by a thread, himself included.

There’s something off with Emily he can’t put his finger on. They haven’t been alone since the encounter in his office, weeks ago, and she’s kept her distance with every case they’ve had. If he gets too close she takes a few precautionary steps back, if he agrees with her or compliments her profiling, she merely nods before quickly turning to Reid or Morgan or JJ. She calls him  _ sir _ with the perfunctory respectful tone, but he knows her well enough to hear the subtle, slight disdain that permeates her voice whenever she addresses him directly.

He  _ knows _ she’s been avoiding him for certain reasons (some he can’t blame her for) and while her professionalism never wanes, there’s something else hiding in her eyes. Something he’s determined to find out. 

He doesn’t connect the dots until he sees her disappear into Strauss’s office one day, with the slightest of glances over her shoulder, and then he realizes exactly what’s happening. 

Strauss has been behind this all along; this was perfectly planned. Emily’s involvement is still somewhat of a mystery to him, but she’s involved nonetheless, and only  _ after  _ he’s gone home yet again to a disgruntled Haley does he understand the feeling that’s been silently invading his mind for weeks now. 

_ Betrayal _ .

And once again, he finds he’s the only one to blame. Maybe history does have a way of repeating itself.

**…**

Much to his surprise, his suspension after Flagstaff has the complete opposite effect on Haley than he thought it would. It’s like the flip of a light switch, actually. Suddenly she’s her bubbly, effervescent self again - the Haley he’d married. What she doesn’t realize (or care to) is he’s completely, utterly miserable. 

“You’re doing the right thing,” she’d told him with a bright smile on her face while preparing breakfast one morning. “Getting suspended was a blessing in disguise. We deserve a normal life.” 

_ Nothing about this is normal.  _

Her resignation isn’t a surprise. He  _ knows _ Strauss has a hand in all of this, and her attempt to use Emily as a pawn in her game is failing miserably. And when she practically barges into her office, making a spiel about taking the foreign service exam, he knows it’s all an act. It’s been planned, her own way of gaining the upper hand she so desperately needs to have. 

It’s so  _ very _ Emily, her way of telling Strauss to go fuck herself. And in her own,  _ Emily _ way of doing things, it’s an expression of loyalty. 

To him. 

**…**

By the time he makes up his mind to go to Milwaukee, he wonders if it’s too late. Time is never on their side when it comes to killers like this one.

Haley knows immediately something is up when she dashes into the room and he’s packing a bag, reaching for his usual trip essentials. It’s a shockingly accurate metaphor for their entire relationship, he decides, while reaching for his gun. 

“You’re  _ not _ working on this case,” she reasons, her voice shrill. “They suspended you for two weeks. Who are you being loyal to?” 

“The team needs me.”  _ In his mind, it’s simple. _

She’s not looking for an explanation as to  _ why _ he needs to go. She doesn’t care. “Don’t make me the monster here,” Haley snaps, and Aaron has a feeling he’s been doing  _ that _ all along. “There will  _ always _ be another case. It’s never going to stop.” 

“This is who I am, Haley.” 

“No,” she pleads, even though she knows by now it’s too late to change his mind. “This is what you do.” 

“I’m trying to do the right thing, here and there, and I would really appreciate a little support.” It comes out biting, the antithesis to her pleading. 

“That’s right. Because  _ you _ always need to be the hero.” 

“Don’t give me that.” 

“Obviously a happy life isn’t enough for you.” It’s an ultimatum, even if it’s not phrased like one, and he knows once he walks past her, it’s all but the beginning of the end. 

Aaron makes his choice, and stepping around Haley, he shuts the door behind him, his bag in his hand. She yells something from behind the closed door, but he keeps moving down the stairs and out the door. He doesn’t even question the stop he’s about to make before going to the airport. 

Based on what he’s overheard from snippets of conversation between her and the team, Aaron assumes Emily has settled in Arlington, just outside of DC. That being said, he’s strictly forbidden himself from finding her address. That would be a line crossed, a temptation he doesn’t need. But this time he doesn’t hesitate, pulling the information he needs without thinking twice.  _ Arlington was a correct assumption _ , he notes as he scribbles her address down _.  _

It’s like he’s on autopilot. He curses the Northern Virginia traffic the entire way to her building, because  _ someone _ is cutting out womens’ hearts in Milwaukee and while he can’t deny the ridiculous irony of it all, he  _ needs _ her with him. They’re already down without Gideon as it is, bleeding from a metaphorical gaping wound. She’s a hell of a profiler, the team could use her insight just as much as they need his. The only hurdle is to convince her to actually get on the damn plane. 

When Emily opens the door, she just stares at him, an incredulous look on her face. She’s tempted to ask just  _ how _ he found her, but there’s no point. He’s already here. It doesn’t matter now.

It’s what he expected. “Can I come in?” 

She doesn’t say a word, just holds the door further.  _ It would be so easy to fall right back into what we used to be. No one would know; it would only leave one more invisible scar _ **_._ ** The thought is so intrusive, it catches her off guard. She hesitates for a moment, gathering her wits, hoping he doesn’t notice her shaking hands when she shuts the door. 

“The team needs us. They’re on a case in Milwaukee.” He glances around, taking in her apartment. “Nice place,” he adds. It’s _much_ nicer than any place he’s ever lived in, with the wide, sweeping windows and the perfect view of the Capitol Building and the Potomac. None of the furniture looks familiar, either - it’s a clear upgrade from her old places, and most likely ridiculously expensive.

“Thanks,” she says coolly, her eyes flicking up and over him. “And I heard. JJ called me already. But I’m sorry. I can’t go.” 

“Right. Sorry I barged in.” It’s an apology, sure, but it doesn’t sound like one. He makes no effort to leave, and she knows right away he’s not going to give up without a fight. 

“Wait, wait. Can I ask. Why are you really here?” There  _ has  _ to be an explanation. He wouldn’t be here for no reason. 

“I think Strauss came to you and asked for dirt on me.” 

_ He’s good.  _ But she already knew that. 

“Why would she do that?” 

“I think if you have your eyes on top leadership at the FBI, you want to know who might stand in your way.” 

“And what could I have told her?”  _ So much _ . 

“That one of my agents might have murdered a suspect in cold blood. Or another might have a serious drug problem which I didn’t report, and if Strauss had any evidence, my career would be over.” 

He’s certainly not wrong. The last few months haven’t been easy whatsoever. But  _ none _ of it is his fault, and that alone is enough to solidify her hatred for Strauss even more, for making him bear the brunt of all of this. Of course she can’t tell him that, so she stays silent. 

“I think she put you on our team, and expected something in return. And to your credit, you quit, rather than whisper in her ear.” 

_ So he does know.  _

“I told you a long time ago, Aaron. I hate politics. I hate everything it does to people. I seem to recall we were in a diner having coffee? I remember. Surely you do too.” 

He  _ does _ remember - he remembers it all. “Come to Milwaukee,” he challenges her, and even though she looks like she’d rather just kick him out, he  _ knows _ she’s considering it, judging by the way she’s biting her lip, her foot tapping against the floor. She can’t  _ not _ consider it. So he switches tactics, a bargain, so to speak. “I’ll make you a deal. If your bag isn’t here, packed, I won’t bug you anymore. If it is, I want you on that plane with me. One more case.” 

“Is that what you told Haley when you left? One more case?” 

He doesn’t budge, but the way his hand slides back to his gun all but confirms it for her. 

“I already turned in my badge and gun.” It’s a last-ditch effort to ward him off, but it’s too late, because he’s already spotted her overnight bag behind her. 

“That’s just hardware,” he says, with a slight glint in his eyes, knowing he’s won.

And when she bends down to pick up the bag, she can’t help but smile too. 

Less than an hour later, they’re sitting side by side on a plane to Milkwaukee. 

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 38 coming soon!


	38. Thirty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What I’m saying, Is that one of these days, we’re going to make a mistake we can’t take back. It’s only a matter of time.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all - thank you for the sweet notes on 37, your comments, tumblr messages, and get well wishes, too! You are all so kind, and I’m so grateful for every single one of you. You are a sure bright spot in my day, always. Here is 38, another lengthy one full of some angsty, complicated drama between everyone’s favorite problematic duo. My goal was to get this up Friday, but life threw a few unexpected wrenches this week. One thing- I have to give credit where it’s due - the “when is it enough” lines are based on a scene from the movie The Mexican, as inspired by a comment from chapter 36 that’s been floating around my head since I read it, and I’ve been eagerly waiting to work it in. As always, enjoy! <3

**Chapter 38: Read My Mind**

_ Slipping in my faith until I fall _

_ He never returned that call _

_ Woman, open the door, don't let it sting _

_ I wanna breathe that fire again _

She has a  _ splitting _ headache, thanks to Joe Smith taking a 2x4 right to her head. 

_ Logical consequences _ , Emily reminds herself, holding the ice pack to her temple and doing her best not to wince as the paramedic treats the gash on her forehead. Aaron has remained only a few feet away from the ambulance the entire time, and she’s smart enough to know why. He keeps a close eye on the paramedic who checks her out, his jaw set firmly as they assess her injuries and treat the copiously bleeding contusion on her forehead. 

“Does she have a concussion?” He asks, not for the first time, pacing in a circle. 

“It’s likely,” the medic says, finishing applying the makeshift band aid on her forehead. “She’s going to need to be watched pretty closely for a little while.” 

Aaron nods without saying a word, just continuing to pace back and forth, checking his watch every few moments.

To anyone else, it looks like he’s showing concern for his subordinate who came very close to a far worse outcome than this. To both of them, it’s so much more than a casual brush with a serial killer, but years of tension threatening to spill over, blurring any boundary or objectivity that may exist between two colleagues.

Aaron is barely aware of the fact Strauss is watching his every move like a hawk. She’s clearly out of her element in Milwaukee, too. They can’t help but snicker at just how out of place she looks among the rest of the team and the city police, with her fancy clothes and not a hair out of place. But luckily, she doesn’t say much as Joe Smith is paraded out of the house in handcuffs, her mouth pressed into a thin, albeit relieved, line. 

Emily smirks at Strauss’s clear discomfort, but that just exacerbates the throbbing in her head.  _ Next time,  _ she thinks, _ don’t go into an unsub’s house unaccompanied and unarmed.  _ Except she knows she’d do it again in a heartbeat if she had to. They all would. 

“How’s your head?” Aaron asks a few moments later, still looking woefully concerned.

“I’ll live.” 

His grimace tells her he saw right through that lie. “You’re taking it easy the next few days. And you’re going to be cleared by a doctor before I let you go back in the field.” He doesn’t miss the slight roll of her eyes, nor the tiny frustrated sigh. 

“Is it weird I’m glad to be back?” 

“I’ll make sure it stays official,” is what he says, but there’s a small grin on the corners of his lips too, which confirms for her what he’s really thinking.

_ He just might be glad too _ . 

“Strauss is coming,” Emily murmurs, just loud enough for him to hear, keeping her eyes on their boss, whose behavior since they’d arrived in Milwaukee is anything but boss-like. It’s clear she’s hardly spent a day in the field. “Maybe stop looking at me like that?” 

“Like what?” Aaron asks, his hand sliding back to his gun out of habit. 

“Like you aren’t sure if you want to rail me or ream me out.” 

“I’m not looking -” he starts, but it’s too late, because Strauss is right behind him, clearing her throat. 

“I can’t officially approve of how this transpired,” she says, but Aaron knows it’s a concession on her end. She’s going to look the other way, and in a few days, it’ll  _ almost  _ be like none of this even happened. 

Because he’s damn good at this job, and maybe Strauss is finally realizing it, too. 

But he nods anyway, agreeing with her stipulations and and she’s too preoccupied with bureaucracy and protocol to notice he barely even makes eye contact with her at all. 

**...**

Only after they land in Quantico, standing in the empty Bureau parking lot does Emily realize she has no way of getting back to her apartment in Arlington. He’d picked her up, brought her here. It seems like days ago, when in reality, it’s only been hours. 

“I’ll take a cab,” she says weakly, knowing it won’t be enough to get him off her back. “Don’t worry about me.” 

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Aaron is already reaching for her bag and his, his face eerily determined. “I’m taking you home.” 

It’s not even worth the headspace to argue at this point **,** so she just nods, mumbling a thank you as he leads her in the direction of his car. 

They make it back to her place without any major issues, thankfully, even if they hardly speak more than ten words to each other throughout the trip. At least 95 is fairly empty, a rare yet welcomed occurrence. He carries her bag up the steps, keeps a watchful eye as she unlocks the door, and much to her surprise, follows her right into her apartment.

“What are you doing?” she asks, temporarily stunned by both his boldness  _ and _ also how casually he does it, even though she shouldn’t be.  _ No, this is who he’s always been.  _

“Getting you settled.” He says it as if he’s explaining to a child why the sky is blue. 

“I can settle myself, you know.” It feels so wrong to close the door, almost as if they’re luring one another into a trap, a test of whose will is stronger.  _ It would be so easy _ . _ Just a few wrong moves would be all it takes. A weak moment that would change everything.  _

“I know. But you won’t because you’re too damn stubborn. You’ll brush it off because you won’t let anyone help you, because in your eyes, that makes you weak.” He sets her bag at his feet, and Emily wonders if he’s purposefully blocking her bedroom door with his body.  _ He’s forcing me to talk to him _ , she thinks, annoyed he still sees through her so easily.

“What would Haley say if she knew where you were right now?” Emily challenges him because he’s in her apartment now, behind a closed door, for the second time, and it’s the very last place he should be. 

“Are you going to take care of yourself for a change?” He challenges her right back, partly because he  _ is _ concerned about her and partly because she’s touched a nerve, and she knows it. “Take it seriously that you got  _ lucky _ today? And next time could be very different if you’re not careful?”

“If this is how you’re going to act every time I get a scratch from now on, we’re going to have a problem.”

“A scratch? I’d say we’re a step or two beyond scratches, Emily.” He shakes his head in disbelief.  _ Scratches. She’s out of her mind.  _

“Jesus Christ, Aaron. I can take care of myself. I don’t need -” She stops suddenly, as a wave of dizziness shoots through her without warning, a blur behind her eyes that clouds her brain, taking both thoughts and air right out of her. It’s intense, disorienting, and deep breaths don’t want to come. “Damnit,” Emily mutters, briefly closing her eyes, leaning against the counter for support. _ It’s been years since the last concussion she’d endured at the hands of another abusive son of a bitch, but she of all people should remember what it’s like.  _

He nods, as if assuring himself his measures are justified. “I rest my case.” Satisfied, yet still concerned, he takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the barstools. “I told you.” 

“Maybe you’re right.” She’s still leaning on the counter a little more heavily than she would have preferred. “I do feel like shit.” 

“You have a concussion,” he repeats patiently, his tone softening. “Comes with the territory.” Aaron eyes her carefully. “You really shouldn’t be alone tonight.” 

“Well …” she looks around, her shoulders rising in a shrug. “You see anyone else around?” 

“No. That’s why I’m staying with you,” he says, in a voice that leaves little to no opportunity to resist. She opens her mouth, a rejection brewing on her lips, but he holds up his hand. “It’s not up for debate.” 

It only annoys her more, and she folds her arms across her chest in defiance. “What about Haley? And  _ Jack _ ,” she adds for emphasis, realizing she’s never actually seen what his son looks like.  _ Does he look like him? A dark eyed, dark haired, mini Aaron with dimples? Or is he all Haley? Blonde and blue eyed?  _ She wonders, ignoring the fact that her head is starting to ache even more. 

He looks guilty, his eyes shifting away from her just enough to tell her it’s on his mind.  _ Of course it is _ . 

“Aaron.” She pushes him because she knows how to, the same way he knows how to push her. “You need to go home to your wife. And your son. They need you. Not me.” 

He stares at her for a long moment, before managing to get some part of the truth out. “We …I’m not ... I left.” The way he stumbles over words is uncharacteristic, the look of helplessness that clouds his face is concerning. “I left.” 

Her eyes pop open, and if he’s not mistaken, she sways on her feet just a little. If profiling wasn’t his career, he wouldn’t notice the subtle things that give away the fact his last words have shaken her nerve. “You … you left? You left Haley? When did that happen? You didn’t tell me that.” 

“No. I didn’t  _ leave _ Haley. Not like that.” He has to backtrack, because it’s come out all wrong, and she looks more than confused. It’s hard enough for  _ him _ to process it all, let alone explain it to  _ her _ of all people. He pinches the bridge of his nose with frustration and attempts to wrap his mind around the words he’ll need to explain this one. “I didn’t … leave her. But I left.” 

Emily shakes her head in bewilderment. “Are you listening to yourself, Aaron? Because you’re making absolutely zero sense. I know my head is a little banged up at the moment, but you should hear yourself.”

“I left for Milwaukee.” 

“Right …” She looks totally lost by now, and he quite frankly doesn’t blame her. He’s talking in circles. “Again, I’m not following what you’re saying.” 

“Haley gave me an ultimatum.” 

“Which was?”

“She walked in on me packing to leave, and got angry. I told her I was going to Milwaukee because the team needed me. She told me I always had to be the hero.” 

Emily can’t help but snort ungracefully. “She’s not wrong, you know.” 

He ignores her little barb, shaking his head. “She said a happy life wasn’t enough for me. I think that was her last straw, and I’m almost positive she didn’t think I would go. But I did.” 

She doesn’t say anything, just nods, taking it all in. “I see.” It’s noncommittal at best.  _ Typical Emily _ . 

“Is that all you’re going to say?” 

“What else would you  _ like _ me to say, Aaron? Would you like me to congratulate you for leaving your wife in the heat of an argument? Pat you on the back? What kind of woman would that make me?” 

“I thought you’d be a little more supportive.” 

“I don’t really know what to say,” she says honestly, if a bit awkwardly. “Plus, my support is  _ not _ what you need in this kind of situation.” 

“Thanks,” he mumbles lamely, resting his head in his hands. “Good to know.” He has a headache now, too, the constant back and forth between them both exhausting, especially after the day they’ve had.

Emily needs something to do to keep herself from screaming, so she paces through the kitchen, and swipes a bottle of something off the counter, studying the label. “You want a drink? I could go for one.” 

“ _ You _ can’t drink with a head injury, and I’m fine, thank you.” Aaron is suddenly behind her, taking the bottle from her gently, setting it on the counter. “But nice try.” 

“You don’t know for sure that I even have one,” she grumbles, attempting an argument, when a second bout of dizziness tears through even faster than the first. And this time she nearly loses her footing, taking a few shaky steps forward, only to completely stumble head first toward the counter.

“Whoa,” Aaron says, reaching for her just in time to keep her head from smashing into the counter, taking them both to the ground in a less than graceful heap. She’s in his arms now, close enough to kiss, one hand protecting the back of her head and the other wrapped around her body, holding her right to his chest. “Well, that might be my proof right there.” Their eyes meet for one long, intense moment, and it almost hurts him to look at her. 

_ What the fuck was I thinking?  _

“But we can’t have you hitting your head again, can we.” He pushes some of her hair that’s stuck in the band aid away from her face,  _ still _ holding her in his arms, because now that she’s there, regardless of how, he’s not quite ready to let go. His thumb smoothes over the band aid almost reverently. “Two head injuries is enough for one day, right?” 

“Sorry,” she mumbles, awkwardly twisting out of his firm hold and leveling on her feet, taking a few cautionary steps. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.” It’s the way she puts a few extra feet of space between them that whatever he felt just a moment ago, she felt it too. 

“Emily, if it happens again I’m taking you to the -” 

“Aaron, I swear to God, if you’re going to worry all night, one of us isn’t going to make it to the morning.” She brushes him off, reaching for the water glass on the counter. “And it’ll probably be you.” 

He’s still standing close, hovering next to her in case she falls again. “Maybe we should sit down.” His hand is  _ still _ resting on her back; it’s making her heart start to race, and it’s not because of her head this time. 

“Actually,” Emily says slowly, shaking her head as if to make sense of it all. “I think I want to lay down. I’m so tired … and I’m so over today.” But then something else comes to mind, and when she meets his eyes, he sees apprehension and doubt. “But … what about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“Where are you going to sleep?” She almost looks scared to hear his answer. 

“On the couch,” he says smoothly, sounding much more assured than he feels. 

She nods, giving him a wary, shaky smile, as if she’s not fully convinced. “Okay. I think there are some extra pillows somewhere. Just to warn you, it’s not very comfortable.” 

“I’ll worry about it later. Let’s just get you settled.” Her couch is the least of his concerns at this point.

He sits on her bed, perched on the edge while she slowly goes through her nighttime routine - washing her face and brushing her teeth, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a shirt from the dresser. She glances at the clothes in her hands, then at him, then down at the clothes again, with a slightly embarrassed frown.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Can you ... turn around? I probably shouldn’t … you probably shouldn’t watch … you know.” Her cheeks turn the slightest shade of pink. “Right?”

_ Oh. Right _ . “Sorry,” he mumbles, facing the other side of the wall as he hears the swish of fabric being pulled down and up and over. “It’s kind of like old times, you know.”

“What? Me taking my clothes off in front of you?” 

He laughs for the first time in hours, maybe even days. “That’s not what I was going to say, no.” He swallows, trying not to think about it for too long. 

“Then what  _ were _ you going to say?” The other side of the bed dips down, and when he turns, she’s changed, and is tucked underneath the covers, her dark hair spread across the pillow. She looks completely serene, relaxed, and for the first time in a long time,  _ almost _ content.

There’s a brief pause, because he can’t actually say what’s on his mind. “Nothing. Just … forget it.” He gets up to leave, but grabs his arm and holds him in place.

“Thank you for staying, Aaron.” She reaches up, fingertips brushing his cheek that is now dusted with the slightest five o clock shadow of stubble. “You’re always so ...patient. I don’t know why you do it.”

He sighs, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “You know why, Emily.” 

And then he leans down and kisses her, right on the lips, using his hands to brace himself on either side of her head. Much to his surprise, she kisses him back, bringing her hand to the back of his neck, digging her nails into his skin. This one is different from the one in his office - it’s slower, less urgent, but he doesn’t mind because it gives him a chance to savor it, commit it to memory. He pushes her back and eases her down and now both of her arms are closing around him as she nips at his lips, tentatively, until he pulls at her hair, tipping her head to leave a series of kisses along her neck before going back to her mouth again. 

Aaron gets a free hand underneath her oversized t-shirt and pushes the fabric up, his fingers sliding up the smooth skin of her stomach and then to her breast. Emily gasps into his mouth at the contact, and moans when he pinches her nipple. She presses up and into him, and he gets another hand underneath of her, tightening his hold around her until her body is practically melded against his. There’s the familiar scent of her flooding his senses and he groans as if he’s in pain when she sucks at his bottom lip with her own. 

But it all comes to a screeching halt when she freezes beneath him, every muscle in her body tightening. “Aaron,” she whispers, looking directly in his eyes with her own widened ones, pushing her right hand into his chest. “Come on. You can’t.” 

He pretends not to hear her, moving his mouth down to her neck again and his hand to her other breast, and she slaps his chest this time, more forcefully than intended but it does the job. “ _ Aaron _ .” 

That stops him, and he pulls away reluctantly, staring down at her to find her eyes full of remorse.

“You know we can’t do this.” She shifts underneath of him, doing everything she can not to look at him. “Please, stop.” She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, turning away pointedly. 

_ She’s right.  _ “You’re right. I’m - I’m sorry, Emily. I - I didn’t mean - I’ll go.”  _ Fuck. What was I thinking?  _ He swallows, moving his hand from under her shirt, standing as she pulls the covers up higher around her, looking in any direction but his. “Can I get you anything? Water? Another pillow?” 

She shakes her head, still unable to meet his gaze, her voice a whisper. “I’m okay.” 

“I’ll be in the living room if you need anything. Just yell.” 

He leaves the door open just enough to hear the deep, even breaths that tell him she’s asleep within minutes, and he settles in for a long night on the couch **.** Knowing she’s less than twelve feet away, tucked in bed while he lays awake is like a cruel joke.

He checks on her a few times to make sure she’s still breathing evenly -  _ concussions are nothing to mess with, and this isn’t her first, or her second _ , he reminds himself _.  _ When he’s certain she’s soundly resting, Aaron turns off the living room light, knowing sleep most likely won’t come for a while.

He tosses and turns all night.

**…**

His cell phone is what wakes him up the next morning, and it takes a moment for him to remember where he is. It’s  _ loud _ , practically right next to his head, and he fumbles for it as his eyes slowly open. The screen is blurry but it’s  _ still  _ ringing, and all he wants is to quell the offensive noise.  _ What time is it? _

“Hotchner,” he grunts, without bothering to see who is calling. There are only a handful of people who would call him at this hour; none of whom he chooses to talk to right now. He’s going to make this as quick as possible. 

“Aaron?” The voice on the other line is one he knows, yet he can’t place. Whoever it is, they do  _ not  _ sound at all pleased to hear his voice. 

He turns the phone over in his hand, then looks at the screen _._ _Fuck_. 

“Allison?” 

“Yes, it’s Allison. Why are you answering Emily’s phone?” 

_ Son of a bitch.  _ He answered Emily’s phone.  _ They must have gotten switched _ , he realizes with dread, seeing  _ his _ phone on the counter just a few feet away, turned off. The same black phone, similar case.  _ Her _ phone must have been on the coffee table.  _ How could we be so stupid? _ It’s an honest mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. And now, he has a  _ hell _ of a lot of explaining to do. 

“Allison - “

“Can you put Emily on the phone?” She sounds significantly more annoyed than had just moments before. “Please?”

By now Emily is awake too, stumbling out of the bedroom, her hair mussed from sleep and clothes twisted around her body. The second she catches sight of Aaron, she knows something is wrong. “Who is it? She yawns, looking pale. The band aid on her forehead has come off, revealing the nasty gash with dried blood all around it. 

“It’s for you,” he mumbles, brushing past her with his hand over his eyes.  _ This is not happening _ . “It’s Allison.” 

_ Allison? _ She groans, connecting the dots instantly, slowly bringing the phone up to her ear. She can practically see the disappointment in her friend’s face.  _ This will be fun _ . 

“Hello?”

“Why is Aaron in your apartment?” 

“Good morning to you too, Al.” Emily pads over to the fridge, looking for water, but Aaron has beat her to it, handing her a glass filled to the top. She nods in appreciation, bracing for the lecture on the other end of the phone as she takes a sip. 

“Emily, I don’t have time for this. Can you  _ please _ explain to me why Aaron Hotchner of all people is in your apartment? And  _ why _ is he answering your phone at seven in the morning?” Her voice is full of accusation, even if it’s thinly veiled as confusion. 

“Before you jump off a conclusion cliff, back up.” She sounds  _ ridiculously  _ defensive, which will only make Allison more suspicious. “Let me just say, he slept on the couch.” 

“Do you even have a couch? Wasn’t your apartment almost empty for a little while?” 

“I do in fact have a couch now, Allison. And I can explain.” 

From his place by the fridge, Aaron gives her a quizzical stare as he begins searching for what she assumes is something to make for breakfast.  _ Good luck _ , she thinks, picturing the empty shelves in her fridge and pantry. 

He’s rolling his eyes in frustration at her lack of any real food, mumbling something about going shopping. Chuckling to herself, Emily disappears into her bedroom, the phone held between her ear and shoulder. 

“Oh my God.” She sighs. “I swear, Emily, it’s never a dull moment with you.” 

“What’s going on? It’s … Thursday, right? Aren’t you supposed to be in court?” 

“It is in fact Thursday. I have a hearing later this morning. Emily … what is he doing in your apartment?” 

“Why don’t you tell me why you called first? Clearly there’s something you needed.” 

“I called you because  _ Haley _ called me not too long ago. She’s frantic. Apparently Aaron didn’t come home last night after your case. She asked if Shane heard from him at all, which he hadn’t.” 

“I see.” 

“And since you two work together, which, for the record, I  _ still _ don’t understand, I thought you might know where he is.” 

“Makes sense.” 

“And clearly, I was right.” 

“I can explain.” Emily peers through the cracked door to where Aaron has busied himself with breakfast, judging by the scent wafting through the door, the sound of cabinets being opened and a pan scraping against the stove.

“Oh, please do. You do know how bad this looks, right?” 

Her headache, which hasn’t quite dissipated, is threatening to come roaring back with a vengeance. “We had a case in Milwaukee,” she begins slowly, wondering just how much of this story she should share. 

“Explain that to me. Haley told me Aaron got suspended. What the hell was he doing in Milwaukee?” Allison sounds ridiculously confused; Emily can’t blame her. It’s all so fucked up.

“He did get suspended, and I quit, but that’s beside the point.” 

“You quit? Already? Wait … Do you  _ ever _ just ... I don’t even know what to say, Emily. Just keep talking.” 

“Long story short, we went to Milwaukee. Some guy was carving women’s hearts out of their chests, and the team needed us.” 

“Jesus Christ, Emily, I’m eating,” Allison groans. “Warn me next time before you start in with something like that. I still can’t believe you deal with this stuff every damn day.” 

“I got into a little altercation with this …the guy.... And he hit me over the head with a 2x4. I most likely have a concussion. Aaron drove me home from Quantico, and when we got back I got really dizzy and almost hit my head again. He didn’t want me to be alone all night. So … he stayed over. On the  _ couch _ .” 

There’s a long pause. “Okay. Well, that’s a whole hell of a lot to unpack,” Allison says, sounding somewhat intrigued. “But I’m going to stick to the main points for the sake of time. First of all, you need to see a doctor at some point about your head. Don’t give me any shit about it. You  _ know _ concussions are nothing to mess with.” 

Emily rolls her eyes. “Fine.” 

“Second,” she says tentatively, as if deciding how far to push things. “Emily, Aaron is  _ married _ , in case you haven’t forgotten _. _ He shouldn’t be in your apartment at all, regardless of the fact he stayed on the couch.”

“What did Haley tell you?” Emily asks, even though it probably doesn’t matter. It’s not going to fix any of this.

“She told me they had a fight and he left, even though he was suspended. She was  _ not happy _ . She called one of your team members when he wasn’t answering his phone last night.  _ Apparently,  _ he told her you were getting home this morning, but your teammate told Haley you all got home  _ last  _ night. She panicked. So what the hell is going on, Emily?” 

“I didn’t talk to him about Haley,” Emily winces at the half truth she tells so easily, bringing her knees up to her chest. “I have no idea what he told her.” In all honesty, she’s annoyed at him now, too, for making this even more complicated.

“Haley and I aren’t all that close, but I have to call her back, what do you suggest I say? Do you expect me to  _ lie _ to her? She’s not going to take well to knowing  _ her _ husband is at his … his … your apartment.” 

“I don’t know, Allison.” Emily massages her pounding temples. “Aren’t you supposed to be the convincing one? Being a lawyer and all?”

“I really don’t want to be in the middle of this, Emily. But here I am, getting dragged in. You’re playing with fire. And if you keep sneaking around with Aaron, things are going to blow up. And someone is going to get hurt.” 

“There’s nothing to get in the middle of. We’re not sneaking around,” Emily says evenly.  _ She doesn’t have to know that we kissed. Twice. _

“Clearly that’s false,” Allison scoffs. “Him being there with you at all is the  _ definition _ of sneaking around. You’re smart, Emily. You know the man’s loved you since the day I nearly threw up all over him in your mom’s house. Probably before that. I don’t doubt you’re in a ridiculously tough situation, because let’s be honest, you love him too. You’ve never stopped. But … really. Don’t let this go too far. Please. I’m begging you.” 

From her place on the bed, she can see Aaron hard at work, busily mixing into a bowl while something sizzles on the stove, immersed in the task, looking as if he hasn’t a care in the world.  _ Maybe she’s right _ . 

“You’re right,” she mumbles, feeling defeated, wishing she’d never agreed to any of this in the first place. 

“I’ll call Haley and tell her Shane still hasn’t heard anything. But Emily,  _ please _ don’t put yourself in a situation you can’t find your way out of.” 

She says nothing, just keeps watching Aaron in the kitchen. 

“Are you there, Em?” 

“Yeah,” Emily says, a lump rising in her throat. “I’m here.” 

“I have to get going. Call me later. It’s going to be okay.” 

_ No it won’t. _ The amount of effort it takes to get out of bed again is shocking, but when she’s finally standing in front of him, her arms wrapped around herself defensively, all she feels is regret. For all of this. 

“You have to leave,” Emily says before she can stop herself, hating the way her voice rises with a slight hint of panic. “We can’t do this.” 

“What?” He turns around, spatula in hand, looking strangely at home in the middle of her kitchen. “What’s wrong?” 

“You heard me. We can’t do this.” 

“Can’t eat breakfast? I’m almost done cooking. You really need to go grocery shopping, by the way.” He reaches for plates on the counter, flips whatever is in the pan. It smells faintly of pancakes but the thought of food makes her nauseous.

“You have to leave,” she repeats, all of this becoming overwhelming and her heart starts to race. “Please just go.” 

“What the hell are you talking about? Is this because of your phone call with Allison?” 

She feels the sudden need to cover herself up, reaching for the sweatshirt on the chair. “ _ Haley _ is looking for you, Aaron. She’s frantic and quite frankly, I don’t fucking blame her.” Emily taps the ground with her toe, playing with the waistband of her sweatpants. 

“What did Allison say?” He slams the spatula down tersely, and it rattles against the counter.

“Haley called her.” 

His jaw flexes; he clearly wasn’t expecting that. “Haley called Allison?” 

“Yes. Asking her if Shane knew where you were. Imagine Allison’s surprise when she found out you’re here, with me.” She moves away from him, as if distance will make a difference at this point. “What did you tell Haley, Aaron? Where does she think you are?” 

Aaron pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply, pacing in a circle. “I told her we were coming back this morning.” He looks completely torn, as if he’s being forced to make an impossible choice. “I don’t know how she found out. I should have told her the truth.” 

“Oh, Garcia told her. Haley called her last night asking what was going on. And you’re damn right, you should have. What about your  _ child _ , Aaron? This isn’t just about  _ you two _ or  _ us _ or the three of us, you know,” Emily snaps. “How can you be so cavalier? You’re better than that.” 

It’s the disappointment in her voice that makes him cringe; he bows his head in agreement. “You’re right, Emily. But you shouldn’t have been alone, either. I took you to Milwaukee. I’m the unit chief. I’m responsible for what happened there.” 

“ _ I’m _ the one who agreed to go into the house, Aaron. I made the decision. I can live with the consequences.” 

“But you still shouldn’t have -” 

“You don’t get it, do you?” Emily folds her arms over her chest, incredulously staring him down. “You  _ shouldn’t  _ be here at all, and we both know it. Don’t even try to deny it.” 

“What are you saying?” 

“What I’m saying,” Emily says, drawing a ragged breath. “Is that one of these days, we’re going to make a mistake we can’t take back.” She sinks into one of the stools, defeated. “It’s only a matter of time.” 

He switches the stove off, disappointment and something else lining his face. Something that looks similar to the one that had been on hers the night he came to her apartment to tell her he was seeing Haley. It’s not what she expected to see, and doesn’t give the satisfaction she’d always anticipated it would. “Fine,” he says eventually, giving her a long look. “If you want me to go, I’ll leave.” 

“Go for your family, Aaron. Not because of me. Go because it’s the right thing to do.” 

He’s already finding his jacket and grabbing his keys from the counter. “Then I’ll see you at work,” he says bluntly. “Take care of that head wound. It might need to be stitched.”

She closes the door behind him, flipping the deadbolt on afterthought. With a sigh, she sinks to the ground, holding her head in her hands.

…

“Where the  _ hell _ were you?” Haley asks the second he comes through the door. “You know I’ve been worried sick right?” 

“Milwaukee,” he says sharply, dropping his bag on the ground, looking around the clearly empty house. “Where’s Jack?” 

“He spent the night with Jessica. And try again. Penelope told me you got home last night, which is _not_ what you said when I talked to you on the phone. _You_ said you’d be home early this morning. Care to explain that?” 

“When did you call Garcia?” He hardly has a leg to stand on at this point, having been caught in a massive lie.

“Late last night. I got worried when I didn’t hear from you. I  _ thought _ you were at the hotel, but you weren’t picking up your phone. So I called her. You lied right to my face, Aaron. What the  _ fuck _ is going on?” She looks exhausted, judging by the dark circles ringing her eyes. 

“It’s a long story,” he says, striding into the kitchen for a bottle of water. “We ran into some issues in Milwaukee. Someone got hurt, and I had to sort a few things out.” 

“All night?” She spits with disbelief. “Don’t lie to me again, Aaron. You were with Emily, weren’t you?” 

“Wasn’t it you who said I always had to be the hero?” Aaron holds her gaze, using her own words against her and she sneers right back. “A member of my team got injured while we were away. Part of my job is to ensure their safety and well being.” 

Haley’s voice is full of disdain. “And JJ couldn’t have done that? Or Garcia? It just  _ had _ to be you, Aaron? I’m sure you were more than happy to come to her rescue,” she snaps. “In fact, I’m sure it was your idea in the first place.” 

“Haley -” 

He’s cut off by the phone that starts ringing on the coffee table, and he reaches for it, grateful for the brief interruption. “Hello?” 

_ No answer,  _ and whoever it is hangs up immediately. He takes a deep breath, setting the phone down, turning back to Haley. “Haley, I told you the -” 

Now there’s  _ another _ ring, this one different - Haley’s cell phone is ringing in her purse. She stands still, frozen in place, staring between him and her purse, arms crossed defensively. 

_ Interesting.  _

“Are you going to answer that?” Aaron asks suspiciously, his jaw tightening. “Could be important.” 

“It’s nothing,” Haley snaps quickly, shutting the phone off without answering it. “Prank call, I guess.” 

“Right.” When he looks at her, she’s staring at her feet, the phone in her hands. 

It’s not even worth starting a second argument. 

I’m going to take a shower.” He turns on his heel, starting up the stairs, leaving Haley in the middle of the living room. “When I’m done, I’m going to pick up Jack from your sister’s. He doesn’t need to be there all day.” 

“We’re not going to talk about this?” 

“I think we’ve said everything that needs to be said.” 

...

Potomac Mills is the very definition of madness on a normal day; being there for a case is a special form of hell. The fact that it involves a missing child makes it even worse. 

There’s something off from the beginning, ever since they arrived hours ago. The parents know too little, the aunt and uncle know too much, and the boy - Jeremy - is  _ clearly _ hiding something from everyone. Aaron has a bad feeling about it but tries to push the worst out of his mind because that’s never helped solve a case before. All they can do is what they know, going through the protocols and questions and  _ hope _ it’s enough.

In the end, Emily is the one beside him when he starts to sense what might actually be happening here, and her eyes darken impossibly when he suggests separating the family. Soon after that, it all starts to make perfect, sickening sense. When they finally find Katie Jacobs, she watches with a chilling stare as he starts CPR. Aaron is certain he’ll never forget the way the girl’s parents sob with relief when the monitor starts beeping normally, indicating that she will in fact make it. It’s every parent’s worst nightmare; they’re the unlucky ones who have to deal with the repercussions. 

“I know it’s not easy,” Aaron says quietly, once he and Emily have a quick moment alone, after Katie has been taken to the hospital, her aunt and uncle arrested. He’d found her sitting on a bench a short distance away from the mall entrance, wringing her hands with a despondent face. She didn’t give him an invitation to sit down but he did anyway, a gentle attempt to break down one of the walls that have gone back up since what happened in her apartment after Milwaukee. “Cases like this never are, you know.” He knows she struggles with the ones involving children. They all do, but for her, it’s a different kind of pain.  _ How can she not, when she’ll most likely never have one of her own?  _ “What you’re feeling is normal,” he tries once more, because she’s been sitting in silence on that bench for the last fifteen minutes, staring off into the dark night. 

“ _ Don’t _ profile me, Aaron.” Emily’s tone is biting; her eyes are dark, defeated and distant. “Go home. Go hug your son.  _ That’s _ where you belong.” 

What she (or anyone else) doesn’t know is that Haley and Jack moved out two weeks ago. 

**…**

Emily decides right away she likes Dave Rossi. 

The man is practically a legend in his own right, and of course she’s read _all_ of his books voraciously, multiple times. Even if he gives off cold, emotionally unavailable vibes thanks to his taupe walls that have still yet to be painted, there’s a soft side to him she’s been privy to a few times since his arrival in the BAU. What she likes most about Rossi is the fact that he’s _always_ thinking, analyzing what’s around him. He sees everything, says very little, and while normally it would unsettle her, it’s a refreshing change. And luckily, Rossi takes an immediate liking to her, too.

Aaron, on the other hand, isn’t as thrilled to have his old friend back. He has a history with Dave, having worked together a few years ago, back when he was new to the bureau and madly in love with Haley, or so he’d thought. And right away, as Aaron feared, he picks up on the fact that something is very much off. One of the other things Dave notices is how Aaron’s eyes linger on Emily during a briefing for just a few moments too long, and ever since that moment, he’s been keeping a discrete, yet watchful, eye on them both. 

“So, what’s the story with you and Emily?” Dave asks, a little more than a week into his return to the BAU. He’s holding a full glass of whiskey, sitting in one of the chairs across from Aaron’s desk long after everyone else has gone home. 

“Excuse me?” His own drink nearly falls right out of his hands. 

“Aaron, I’ve been doing this before you were born.” Dave jokes with a satisfied smirk on his face. “I might be a little rusty, but come on. Clearly there’s something there.”

“Dave,” he begins, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “Tonight isn’t the best time to - “ 

“You said you didn’t have any plans,” Dave laughs, leaning back in the chair. “I thought that’s why we decided to do this.” He’s amused, but his eyes are questioning. “When you said things were different, I didn’t know just how different you meant.” It’s a loaded statement, meant to cajole the truth out of him. Dave has a way of doing that. He always has.

“A lot has changed, Dave,” he begins, reaching for his own glass with a slightly unsteady hand. He’s still wearing his wedding ring, even if it’s only a formality at this point, warding off the inevitable. “Haley and I have been separated for a few weeks.”

“I figured as much.” 

“How’d you know?” 

“Call it intuition,” Dave says thoughtfully.  _ He’s never been one to reveal his own hand _ , Aaron thinks with a sigh. But if there’s  _ anyone _ who would figure it out, it’s him. “You used to call her ten times a day. Remember?” 

Aaron averts his eyes, searching for something on the wall to stare it. “I guess.” 

“Besides, we’ve been together for the last forty-eight hours. I haven’t seen you call her once. Haven’t mentioned her. And you’re not going home now, clearly.” 

“So what’s your point?” It’s what Dave isn’t saying that raises his hackles.  _ He’s fishing _ , Aaron decides. 

“You and Haley are separated, and there’s  _ clearly _ something there between you and Emily. I haven’t been away  _ that _ long, Aaron.” Dave chuckles. “Writing books might be more lucrative, but I’m a profiler first. I know it when I see it.” 

Aaron hesitates, wondering just how the  _ hell _ he’s even going to start explaining all of this.

“So … are you going to tell me the story or not?” His eyes are twinkling; there’s a grin on his face. It’s as if he knows already, Aaron can’t help but think, wondering if it’s as obvious to the others. 

“It cannot leave this office, Dave. For the sake of the team.” 

“I’ve always been pretty good at keeping secrets, Aaron. I have a few of my own, you know.” 

He takes a deep breath, as if he’s still thinking about where to start. “About seven or eight years ago, I worked for an Ambassador Prentiss in her security department. It was my stepping stone to the FBI. Over the summer, I met her daughter, Emily. She was … .” 

Dave leans back, topping off the dark liquid in his glass, settling in for the story with intense interest, as the minutes turn into hours, and night blends into morning. 

**…**

Penelope’s brush with death rattles them all, himself included, and time seems to completely stop as the team gathers in the hospital waiting room, their faces lined with worry. 

Morgan agrees to stay the night at the hospital, promising an early morning update after he’s spoken to the doctors. They agree to look at everything with fresh eyes in the morning, and bid goodnight in the hospital parking lot, and he can tell she’s stalling as they walk to their cars.

“You okay?” He asks, his stride matching hers as they walk, elbows brushing every few steps. The words don’t feel like nearly enough. It’s times like this he  _ hates _ being in charge. In times like this, he doesn’t know what to say. There’s nothing he really  _ can _ say, really, to make any of this slightly bearable. 

“I think so.” She looks pale, tired, stifling a yawn with her fist. “I … I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this.” She wonders for a brief moment what she would have done had it been  _ him _ on the other end of that gun. It’s a sobering reminder  _ none _ of them are invincible.

“We all are. It’s personal. An attack on the team is an attack on one of us.”  _ It could have been any one of them, really. It could have been her _ . “We’ll start again in the morning. We all need to get some rest.” 

“I guess you’re right.” She kicks at a rock on the ground, slowing her pace to a near halt.

“You’re headed home?” 

“Where else would I be going?” She lifts an eyebrow, giving him a slight frown. “Why are you so concerned?” 

“Emily, I’m just wondering. One of our team members was just shot, if you haven’t forgotten.” By now they’re standing by her car, inches away from the driver’s side door. “Just want to be sure you’re all safe. So, let me know when you get home.” 

She leans against the car, staring him up and down. “Tell me one thing, Aaron. Did you ask the others to do the same? To call you when they get home?” 

He regards her for a moment, wondering if he should lie. In the end, he tells the truth. “No.” 

“Why?” 

“You know why.” 

Emily closes her eyes for a brief moment, and the smallest of smiles ghosts her lips. “That’s what I thought.”

He’s at home, staring into the dark almost a half hour later, when his phone rings.

**…**

Every now and then, they get lucky, and they don’t have to travel very far. 

It doesn’t make Fredericksburg any less disturbing. In fact, it will haunt them all for a while, even if they managed to save the last two victims from the Battlefields **.**

Aaron watches her, with more pride than he should feel, as Emily takes on the heavier aspects of the case. To anyone else, she takes it in a professional, efficient stride. But to him, he knows just how long she’ll remember this one, even after the dust settles. It’s a short trip back to Quantico, and she sits beside him in the passenger seat without saying a word the entire way. 

Morgan is the one who suggests drinks, and everyone else is  _ more _ than happy to join in. 

“Ooh! Who’s up for five?” Emily jokes, and Aaron’s not sure when her mood improved, but she’s clearly happier than she was a short time ago in the car with him. 

_ But he agrees to go along, not even trying to pretend it’s not because she’s also going.  _

Emily narrows her eyes at him, wondering if a combination of a shitty case and alcohol is a wise idea for either one of them tonight.  _ Talk about the potential for bad decisions.  _

“Agent Hotchner?” There’s an unfamiliar man in a suit striding through the BAU with a packet in his hand, coming right toward him, and Aaron doesn’t have to open it to know  _ exactly _ what’s inside the envelope. 

_ Not like this _ , he thinks, as the team gathers around him with curious eyes.

“What is it?” Emily asks as he tears open the top of the envelope, looking over his shoulder.  _ Oh God.  _

He swallows, turning to face them all, his face pinched and shoulders slumped. “Haley’s filing for divorce. I’ve been served.” 

...

They end up going out for drinks (minus Aaron, of course) but it’s a much more toned down, solemn affair, given the latest news. At first no one knows quite what to say, making awkward small talk over the noise in the bar. Soon enough, the conversation switches to the topic she’s dreading. How could they not? 

“I guess you never really know what goes on behind closed doors,” Penelope says, unable to hide her shock, or her sadness. “They always seemed like the perfect couple. And poor Jack. He’s so young. He shouldn’t have to go through this.” 

“Eh,” Morgan says casually. “I can’t say I’m completely surprised. Hotch has been distracted for a while now. Since before Gideon left, I’d say. I knew something was up with him.” 

“I’ve noticed that too,” Reid chimes in as JJ nods in agreement. “Lately it’s been pretty clear something is up.” 

Emily stays silent, not trusting herself to form a coherent thought. “I didn’t know Haley well,” she finally says, hoping it sounds convincing. “I hope they can figure it out, at least for Jack’s sake.” 

Everyone starts murmuring their sympathies for the little boy they’ve all grown to love over the years, and Emily can’t help but feel a pinch of guilt when she thinks of the fact his son’s life will never be the same. 

And she’s partly to blame. 

...

She stays with the team for a few hours, because it’s abundantly clear none of them are really in the mood to go home, herself included. Instead, they throw back three rounds worth of drinks, each one seemingly stronger than the last. Emily knows one more is a bad idea, because she’s  _ feeling _ it, and they all have to be at work the next morning. 

When Morgan drives her home, because there’s no way she could do it safely, it hits her that she's had too much as his car pulls up outside of her building. 

“You good, Princess?” 

“Always,” she drawls, missing the strap of her purse when she leans down to get it. She giggles to herself.  _ Oops _ . “Always good.” 

“Need me to walk you in?” Morgan is watching her with an amused grin.  _ He has no idea _ , Emily thinks as she takes a deep breath. She’s drunk enough that she’s warm and fuzzy, and things are starting to spin behind her eyes, but sober enough to know she’ll feel this in the morning.

“No,” she laughs, stumbling ever so slightly when she gets out of the car, her legs a little wobbly.  _ Not surprising _ , she thinks, tallying up the drinks she’d had the last few hours. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you tomorrow, Morgan.” 

Emily makes it into her apartment in one piece, not even fumbling with her keys as she opens the door deftly, tossing all of her things onto the ground as she makes a beeline for the phone. There’s only one number she’d be able to dial from memory in her current, slightly drunk state. 

“Hello?” Allison answers on the third ring. She sounds frustrated, tired too, and perhaps just a  _ tiny _ bit annoyed Emily’s calling this late. 

“Hey.” Emily tries her best to sound sober, but Allison knows her too well by now. 

“Em, are you okay? You sound … what happened?” 

“I’m just fine. You’re up late.” She knows it’s not the most convincing she’s ever been, but it’s worth a shot. 

“I’m preparing for a case. I have to be in court tomorrow morning. I take it you’re drunk?” 

“I’m not  _ drunk _ ,” Emily says, not exactly convincing. “But I did have a few drinks.” 

“You’re definitely something, then,” Allison says with a groan that doesn’t sound angry, just less than thrilled, and Emily breathes a sigh of relief. “What are you doing tipsy on a random Tuesday? I take it you aren’t on a case?” 

“Haley filed for divorce.” It comes out before she can say anything else.  _ May as well get right to the point.  _

There’s a moment of silence, a deep breath, and another pause. “What?” 

“You heard me.” 

“I know … I know. But … when did that happen?” 

“Tonight. He got the papers as we were getting back from Fredericksurg a few hours ago.”

“Holy shit,” Allison says softly, clearly shocked. “I had no idea it would go  _ that _ far.” 

“ _ Would _ you though?” Emily pries boldly. 

“Well, no, obviously. But … I don’t know. I didn’t actually think Haley would do that. I know things haven’t been good, but … I didn’t think …” 

“Don’t tell Shane I told you.”  _ That’s the last thing I need - for Aaron to know I’m spreading his business around _ . In her mind, she can see the pained expression that was all over his face when he’d been handed the papers. Despite how  _ she _ feels about it, it’s a shitty situation regardless, for everyone involved.

“Emily, he’s my husband. Of course I’m going to tell him. Plus, Aaron is his friend.” Allison adds. “He’s going to find out at some point.” 

“Do you two tell each other everything?” Emily asks, now very aware of the fact that tomorrow is going to be  _ rough _ . 

“We’re married,” Allison says patiently. “Of course we do.” 

“Well don’t tell him I told you. Make something up. I’m definitely  _ not _ gossiping about my boss.” Emily flings herself on her bed, flopping onto her back, staring at the ceiling with one closed eye, then the other. Then she squeezes her eyes shut and when she opens them again, there are stars clouding her vision, flashes of light behind her eyelids. 

_ Definitely had too much _ . 

“Em, I think you need to drink some water and go to bed. Listen, I know it’s a lot to think about, and I promise, we’ll talk in the morning. Or … whenever you’re awake tomorrow. I’ll be in court but I’ll have my phone. Take some Advil before you fall asleep too. You’re going to pay for it in the morning, you know.” 

“Killjoy,” Emily mutters, and through the phone she can hear Allison laughing. 

“Get some sleep. Call me when you’re up.”

Even though she knows it’s a bad idea, Emily finds a half-full bottle of tequila on top of her fridge. With her legs propped up against the wall in her apartment on the living room floor, she stares at the ceiling with a ridiculous smile coming and going on her face, drinking until everything seems to float above her head like some strange night sky. She falls asleep clutching the bottle, the smile never quite leaving her face. 

…

She has a splitting headache the next morning, but it’s nothing like the ache in her back from falling asleep on the floor all night. 

As she expected, but it’s inconvenient and unappreciated nonetheless. A shower takes a concentrated effort and she has to sit down, breakfast is definitely a bad idea, so she settles on a few bites of toast in an attempt to settle her stomach, and barely makes it out the door on time. There are no cases today, just a day of work. It’s a small blessing in disguise - a day of mundane paperwork and hopefully, keeping her distance from Aaron. It’s the least she can do, given the circumstances. While she’s not  _ directly _ responsible for the dissolution of his marriage, part of her can’t help but feel the slightest bit of culpability. 

“Someone had a little too much last night?” Dave asks when she gets out of her car later that morning, when she’s moving a little slower than normal. He’s smiling, his eyes are too, and there’s something about how he’s looking at her that tells her he knows more than he’s letting on. 

For some reason she can’t explain, it doesn’t bother her like she expected it to. 

“You don’t know the half of it,” Emily groans as they walk, grateful when Dave slows down just a little for her. “I’m not as good as I once was, that’s for sure.” 

“I won’t say a word,” he says, holding the door open for her as they make the trek up to the BAU - a few elevator floors and hallways away. “Been there a few times myself. Get yourself some coffee. I’ll cover for you until you’re ready.” 

Emily grins as he disappears into his office - he  _ really _ needs to get those walls painted - and she makes a beeline for the coffee station, desperately in need of something to take the edge off her pounding head.

“You’re hungover,” is the first thing Aaron says when he sees her later that morning, when they’re the only two in the briefing room, sifting through the old files they need to finish some paperwork.  _ Why did I think coming in here was a good idea? _

“You took your wedding ring off.” Emily challenges him right back, reaching for the coffee in front of her as her eyes rest on his left hand. “Are we even?”  _ So much for keeping distances, _ she thinks, pressing her hand over her mouth. It’s a low blow; she has no right to go there.

He blanches, regarding her with a frown, reflexively shoving his bare hand in his jacket pocket. “How much did you drink last night?” 

“How is that your problem?” 

“When your after-work activities start impacting your at-work productivity, it becomes my problem.” 

“I don’t see it impacting anything,” she bites back. “I’m here, and you’ve gotten everything you asked for. My reports are done, aren’t they?” She sinks into one of the chairs, studying one of the files in her hands, waiting for him to leave. Then she can turn the lights off, because it’s only making the headache worse.

Only he doesn’t leave, even though it’s clear he has no real reason to be in there. 

“I’m going to sign the papers,” he finally says, flipping a pen through his fingers. 

“I had a feeling you would say that.” She doesn’t even look up from what’s in her hands. She can’t. If she does, it would give everything away in a split second.  _ No, I won’t make that mistake again. I can’t.  _

“What are you talking about?” 

“This doesn’t change anything, Aaron. You  _ know _ we can’t go back to what we were. You getting a divorce isn’t going to fix  _ us _ . You think I’d just walk back into your arms? Think again.” 

“You aren’t the reason we got divorced, Emily. Haley and I always had issues. Since before you even started here.” 

“Too much has happened, Aaron. I … we … how do we even begin to recover from it all?” There’s weight in her words, indicating she’s clearly thought about this many, many times. She stands, raking her hands through her hair, pressing her fingers to her eyes. “Besides,” she says, staring directly at him. “When is enough enough?” 

“Enough?”

“What happens when two people who love -” she stops, shaking her head. “When two people just can’t get it together? When is it enough, Aaron?”

Of everything that’s been said, over all this time, _that_ is his breaking point. Maybe it’s the culmination of months of this fucked up _dance_ , maybe the fact that his marriage is _almost_ a done deal. But _that_ is it. He tosses the pen to the side, shoves a chair out of the way, doing his damn best to keep his voice down. Aaron grabs her by the shoulders, pushing her back against the wall, his gaze so intense it gives her chills. “ _Enough_?” He hisses, grateful the blinds are closed. “When is it enough? I’ll tell you the answer, damnit. Never. It’s _never_ enough, Emily. It never will be.” 

Her mouth is agape, her eyes starting to well. She wants to scream at him but she can’t, partly because only a wall separates them from the rest of their team, blissfully unaware of the showdown between the two of them, and partly because words won’t come.

“Say something,” he pleads, giving her a shake, nearly lifting her right off her feet. “God damnit, Emily. Say  _ something.” _

“I meant what I said, Aaron. We can’t.” She jerks right out of his grasp and shoves him to the side. “Hopefully one day you’ll be smart enough to see that too.” Grabbing the stack of files on the table, she brushes past him on her way out, slamming the door in her wake. 

_ Maybe it’s too late, after all.  _

…

There’s no monumental fanfare when his marriage is officially over. The papers are signed, the ink dries, and everything is finalized. In fact, it’s fairly anticlimactic, and the world keeps spinning. He finds an apartment, smaller than what he can afford, but he doesn’t need much space. This way, Haley can move back into the house, instead of staying with Jessica.

Moving out feels like a fucked up rite of passage, a milestone he never thought he’d reach. But Morgan helps him make a few trips from the house to his new apartment and Dave brings over an expensive bottle of whiskey under one arm and a cheap pizza in the other. The juxtaposition between the two is a good attempt to numb the fact that it’s a done deal. Either way, he’s grateful for them both. 

They eat the pizza in the middle of the living room on a couple of folding chairs amidst moving boxes and some furniture. Morgan takes a few slices to go, leaving Dave and Aaron to drink the whiskey and stare at the TV, which has yet to be plugged in, let alone turned on. 

“Jack’s with Haley I take it?” 

“Yeah,” Aaron mutters, his hand flexing around the glass. “They’re back at the house. I’ll pick him up later this week.” 

“You’ve got some work to do around here,” Dave jokes lightly as he takes in the scene around them. He kicks his feet up and rests them on a moving box. “But it sounds like you have a good plan worked out.” 

“Hardly,” he says with a scoff. “It’s a big mess.” What he doesn’t mention are the numerous arguments he’s had with Haley about Jack’s schedule over the last few weeks. _School. Soccer. Playdates. All of it._ _A mess indeed._

“And what about Emily?” It’s the first time all night he’s directly mentioned her name, but Aaron’s been expecting it. In fact, he’s been essentially tap dancing around it since he walked in, with vague questions and subtle references. 

“What about her?” He sighs, not in the mood to discuss anything involving Emily at the moment. 

“What does she think of all of this?” 

“She hasn’t said much. We’re giving each other space.” 

“Like that’s ever worked.” Dave chuckles. “You two had some kind of fight, didn’t you?” 

“Do you have someone spying on me, Dave? Something else I’m not aware of?” 

“No, Aaron. It’s not a huge secret you’ve been pretty miserable for the last few weeks. Divorce is never easy, but this is something more.” 

“She’s had enough, Dave. And given everything that’s happened over the years, I can’t blame her. No matter what we do, or how good it  _ can _ be, it always seems to fail. It’s like we go in circles with one another. Constantly.” 

He’s uncharacteristically quiet for a few long moments, before finally speaking again. “Do you love her?” 

“I think I always have.” Even he is surprised at just how easily the words fall from his own lips.

“Things have a way of working out, Aaron. You might not see it now, but take it from me. Sometimes, what’s meant to be finds a way.” 

…

Emily is nothing less (but nothing more) than cordial and professional in Chula Vista as they work side by side. It’s awkward, even if they both pretend it’s not, playing a delicate game around each other, keeping distance and pretending they’re both not sneaking a glance here and there. Much to his own surprise, he gets the smallest of smiles from her as they stand outside the movie theatre, observing the two teenage girls smoking cigarettes, tossing around theories in an attempt at a profile. It’s something he hasn’t seen in a while, something he’s missed, and he makes a mental note to do it more often. 

Pittsburgh is strange to say the least, and he hardly sees her at all for the entire duration of the case. Texas is a completely different story - they’re  _ all _ in each other’s way here, because this damn town barely has more than two traffic lights - but she’s too preoccupied with Reid’s mental state to even notice anything else. 

Miami is where everything changes, and it’s not the heat, even though it doesn’t help things. It’s the look she sees on JJ’s face when Will LaMontagne walks right in that gets the wheels in her head turning, questioning everything she’s managed to tuck away for the last couple of months. The final straw is Will’s hope, which quickly changes to despondence, when he marches into the police department, lays it out, but is prepared to walk away. And he does, until JJ runs after him. 

Only after she’s in her hotel room does she realize she’s seen _that_ look, too.

Many, many times.

…

There’s a glass in his hand, and he’s watching the television on mute. It’s a familiar routine for him; it’s been one since he moved. Hours have passed since they got back from Miami. While he’s relieved to be out of the sweltering weather, they’d been greeted with a severe thunderstorm that practically brings DMV traffic to a standstill. Much to his chagrin, it’d taken an extra hour to get home from Quantico.

As much as he’s missed Jack, he knows better than to call Haley this late. It would only lead to an argument about his hours and unpredictable schedule. Nothing they haven’t fought about before. 

So he’d showered, changed, and settled into the couch for a long night of pointless tv and mindless consumption of alcohol.

A knock shakes him from a daze, and it takes a second one for him to be sure it’s not just the thunder.  _ Definitely a knock _ . He’s not drunk, but the whiskey is doing its job making him feel relaxed and fuzzy, the line between reality and his memories are starting to blur. In fact, the glass is still in his hand when he opens the door, and he does a double take, because it seems as if history is repeating itself once more. 

Emily stands in the doorway, wrapped in a dark raincoat and her hair framing her face, hands in her pockets and her foot tapping against the floor. She’s not even bothering to hide it. She says nothing, just stares at him, pressing her lips together in a nervous line. 

“What are you doing here?” He’s not completely surprised to see her - who else would be here at this hour - but  _ how _ she got here is a question for a different time. 

“Do you always drink alone like that?” She tips her head to the side, eyes resting on the glass in his hand.

“About as often as you do,” he shoots back. 

“That’s what I thought.” She takes a deep breath, wrapping her arms around herself. “You’re settled in, I take it? You got home ok? I was worried...the weather, you know.” 

“What are you doing here, Emily?” He’s really _ not _ in the mood for this. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” The way she says it isn’t casual, but it’s as if she’s done this all before.  _ In a way, she has. A lifetime ago. _ Her eyes flicker between the glass and his, a slight frown crossing her face. “I’ve been thinking. Since Miami.” 

“And somehow you ended up here?” Arlington is  _ at least _ a thirty minute drive without traffic.  _ No, this was planned.  _ “Seems like hell of a coincidence.” 

“You can throw me out if you want to.” She kicks the ground with her shoe. “I’d understand … if you did.” She rocks back on her heels, as if preparing for him to tell her to leave. Outside there’s another rumble of thunder punctuated by lightning, shaking the building in its wake. She jumps just a little bit. 

“Do you want to come in?” He’d be an asshole to make her leave now.

Emily nods, still not meeting his gaze. “Okay.” 

“Don’t get too excited … it’s not much to see.” As if to prove his point he stands back, opening the door just a little bit wider, stepping back to let her through anyway. She smells like rain, and traces of shampoo; he has to resist from reaching for her 

She steps over the threshold, glancing around his apartment with curiosity. At least it’s fully furnished now, a clear bachelor pad scattered with evidence of Jack’s inconsistent presence. She turns in a circle, taking it all in. “I like it.” Taking a few steps closer to him, she smiles cautiously. With a trembling hand she reaches out, touches his cheek. “It reminds me of your old place.” 

He frowns. “Why are you really here, Emily?” He asks again, his patience starting to wear thin. She’s close enough that he can see her chest rising and falling, a little faster than it was just moments ago.

Emily tips her head to the side with a soft, knowing smile, rises on tiptoe, then covers his lips with her own, pressing her body against him. “You know why.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


	39. Thirty-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hurt you both. I hurt you because of her, and I hurt her because of you.” The circle, or triangle, or whatever this is, is complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi everyone - just a little thank you - you never fail to make me beam. Reading your comments and messages from the last few days made me so happy. This one was a bit of a labor of love, for sure. I went back and forth with so many parts multiple times (if you could have seen the hot mess google doc that was this chapter) and definitely had a few facepalm moments over the last week. As always, enjoy!

**Chapter 39: The Scientist**

_ I had to find you, tell you I need you _

_ Tell you I set you apart _

_ Tell me your secrets and ask me your questions _

_ Oh, let's go back to the start _

Aaron completely misses the shelf when setting the glass down, and it smashes to the ground into hundreds of tiny slivers. In the dim light of his living room, they sparkle on the ground like tiny crystals. He doesn’t even care that he’s barefoot on the tile. 

“Leave it,” he says when she hesitates a moment, sidestepping the glass, before he slides his hands right into her hair, his mouth covering hers. She’s hardly prepared for how quickly he moves, and clutches his shoulders as he backs her up right into the wall with a thud. Neither of them even notice the water droplets that fly off her raincoat.

“Jesus, Aaron.” Emily sweeps her hands across his chest, fingers tightening around his shirt. “What the hell?” She’s trying to get leverage on him but he’s so much stronger, sliding his leg between hers to keep her against the wall. He can barely attend to anything except the fact that she’s here, in front of him, willing, and he’s kissing her with an ardent intensity. Aaron moves both hands along her face, kissing her again as she hooks an arm around his neck, tries to get a leg around his waist. But he pushes it down and presses his knee between her legs again with a bit more pressure, and her hips buck into him. There’s adrenaline and history and years of waiting that make both of them persistent and impatient in his efforts. 

“Slow down, Aaron,” Emily soothes, sounding calmer than she feels, because the zeal of his gaze _and_ his touch isn’t the Aaron she’s known **.** He seems almost desperate to touch her, as if she’ll evaporate right before his eyes **. “** We have all night, you know.” She reaches up with a cautious hand, slipping it through his hair and slides her tongue against his when he kisses her once more. “I didn’t come all the way here to go back to Arlington, you know.” She laughs into his mouth, strokes her fingers through his hair again. “Plus, it’s pouring. I’m not going anywhere.” 

_ That _ seems to snap him out of  _ wherever _ he was just now, pulling back just enough that they  _ both _ can breathe, his eyes heavy and dark. “I’m sorry,” he pants, hair falling over his brow. “I got a little carried away.”

“I know.” The apologetic smile on his face, makes her grin right back at him in reassurance. She tips her forehead against his and cups her hand around the back of his neck. “I know.” 

“How the hell do you get this off?” Aaron fumbles with the belt of her jacket, which has entirely too much fabric for his liking, the wet material slippery under his hands. This only seems to cinch it tighter around her waist and he curses in frustration. He’s fumbling with it, unable to actually get his hands around the buckle because he can hardly see straight, let alone maneuver women’s fashion.

“Let me,” she says with a sheepish smile. Her hands are much more nimble than his, and she gets the buckle undone and the belt loosened in half the time. “Not so hard, right?” 

He pushes the jacket off her shoulders into a damp heap on the ground, his face in her neck, his hands smoothing over her waist and up to her chest. She’s  _ still  _ wearing too many clothes, he thinks in annoyance. But instead he just grunts in response to her little quip.

All Aaron wants to do is touch her, to relearn every inch of her, but the wall behind her is unforgiving, and nowhere close to how this should go. He’s imagined this exact moment more times than he can count, none of which include her shoved wantonly against the wall in his apartment **.** It seems too crass, rushed, and cheap **.** He moves a little farther back, bringing her with him in his arms, as if to see if she still fits the way she did years ago.

_ She does _ , and he damn near breathes a sigh of relief. 

“What is it?” Emily breathes against his ear, her nails digging into his back through his shirt, her hips already starting to rock against his knee that’s still pressed into her. 

“Not here.” He’s staring at her, just staring, as if he’s searching for permission or  _ something _ , because he’d never just assume; he knows her better than that. 

Emily takes a deep breath, nodding her head, which is the only impetus he needs before he gets his hands underneath of her, dipping and lifting her up to secure her legs around his waist. He bounces a little to get her high enough that she doesn’t slip, and her arms wrap around his neck as their mouths meet in another heated kiss. 

There’s only a short hallway between here and his bedroom, but time blurs in his mind as he walks them down, kicking the door open. 

The light is on; he must have forgotten about it earlier. But he can’t bring himself to turn it off, because he can’t fathom not being able to see her, to watch her face contort with pleasure. So he bypasses the switch, and lowers down onto his bed with her still in his arms. She’s clinging to him, legs around his hips and arms around his neck, like she’s afraid to let go. 

“Em,” he whispers, now that it’s his turn to ease  _ her _ fears. “You gotta let go for a second, sweetheart.” He touches his lips to hers, lightly, to reassure more than anything else, and she acquiesces to him, unable to tear her eyes away. It gives him a few moments to get his hands underneath of her, and her shirt over her head before going for the buttons on her jeans. Those pose more of a challenge. “Damn buttons.” 

“You used to be better at this,” she jokes lightly, her hands moving down to make quicker work of her pants. 

“I’m a little rusty.” But then he gets the jeans down past her hips and she gets them off the rest of the way. 

Aaron takes a few seconds to look at her, taking in the dips of her waist, the curve of her hips, the length of her legs, the sharp angles of her collarbones. Her hips are fuller than they were back then, her stomach the slightest bit softer **.** It brings back every memory he’s catalogued in a mental rolodex, the ones he never managed to fully forget, and even though all he wants to do is bury himself inside her, he’s not about to rush one second of this. Instead, he just stares at her, lifting her to his chest to kiss her collarbones and lowering her back down, kissing down her arm and then to her hips. He gets her legs apart, trailing his fingers along the smooth skin of her inner thighs, and something catches his eye. 

“What’s this?” He bows a bit to look at the tattoo on her leg, and he’s silent for a few long moments, running his finger along the black ink, tracing the lines. It’s faded just a little now but it still looks the same - sometimes she even forgets about it -but  _ he’s _ never seen it, and it’s clear he makes the connection immediately. He doesn’t say anything else, just takes a few more seconds to look at it. But then his attention shifts and he brushes his knuckles over the red lace between her legs a few times, listening to her breath hitching in her throat **.** It has the desired effect, as she lifts her hips up as if asking him to do it again.

“What are you doing, Aaron?” She lifts on her elbows to watch him, her eyes hooded and fanned with her thick, dark eyelashes. She’s never been  _ shy _ , especially with him, but she looks nervous, because the balance of power is clearly in his hands. He’s  _ clearly _ enjoying himself, she notes, biting her lip in anticipation.

“Just looking at you.” And he continues his inspection with reverent eyes, relearning all the places he’d loved to kiss, and finding a few new ones along the way. 

Emily blushes underneath him when all of her clothes are in a pile somewhere by the floor. “Not fair,” she murmurs, sliding her fingers through his hair as he’s bent over her, dropping kisses along her collarbone.  _ He’s taking his time. Damn him and his thoroughness. _

“What isn’t fair?” He pulls her up from the mattress just enough to unclasp her bra and drag it down her arms, tossing it behind him.

“What about you?” She’s referring to his clothes - the old t-shirt and sweatpants he’d thrown on hours ago, frowning slightly. “Why are  _ you _ still wearing those?” 

“What’s the rush?” He lowers his head to her stomach, kissing the planes and the curve of her ribcage before his teeth scrape over the bones there too. She’s shaking just enough that he can feel her move under his mouth which is a dead giveaway that  _ somewhere _ in her mind, she’s nervous too. “Relax,” he whispers into her skin. “You said you weren’t leaving.” 

“I’m not.”

“Good.” Aaron shifts, moving his head up and closing his lips around her nipple, while his other hand goes for the other breast, giving a gentle caress, then a firm squeeze. Emily arches into his mouth, a surprised whimper escaping from her, before he switches to the other side. “God, I missed you.”

“Did you?” She cups his head and holds him closer to her chest, his forehead somewhere close to where her heart is still pounding. 

He grunts something she can’t make out, but judging by the way his teeth sink down on her nipple just hard enough she whines for him to do it again, she knows it’s a confirmation. 

Show me, then.” It sounds strained, as if she’s trying to maintain composure, but he knows better than that. She lifts her hips suggestively, indicating  _ exactly  _ what she wants, even if she doesn’t directly ask. There’s an element of nerve, of wanting it to be what it always was, while knowing it’ll  _ never _ be exactly the same. 

Aaron’s eyes darken, a slight glaze in them already, and he kisses her again, this time just a little more forcefully than a moment ago. “These need to go too.” He cups her between her legs, the heel of his hand hitting her clit through the lacy fabric, not once but twice, and he doesn’t have to go any further to know she’s already wet, dripping actually **.** He gets his finger underneath the hem and she lifts her hips to help him the rest of the way. They get added to the pile somewhere; finding them is tomorrow Emily’s job **.** There isn’t much she  _ can _ focus on right now, especially like this. When he shifts over her, his body spreading over hers, she hardly recognizes the noise that comes out of her when his hand drifts over her stomach and further down.

Aaron’s hand between her legs might just be what sends her over the edge, him too if he’s not careful. He’s barely even gotten started before she’s already whimpering again. In fact, he hasn’t actually  _ moved _ his hand yet, just keeps applying gentle pressure here and a few tiny circles there, experimenting, then the finger that’s slipped inside of her easily becomes two.  _ Nope, he’s going to take his time, drag this out as long as he can.  _ “Aaron,” she attempts to sound like there’s some presence of mind, but whatever is left is evaporating, as her eyes close only to open again, watching him. 

He knows what she’s asking; she’s already starting to clench around his hand **.** “I’m going to make you come Emily,” he murmurs into her ear, starting to slide his fingers in and out of her **.** “It’s been awhile since you have, hasn’t it?”

“ _ Aaron,”  _ is what she says, but it comes out sounding something like a moan, his name one blurred syllable, coupled with a cry as her hips rock into his hand, seeking  _ anything _ to take the edge off. “Please.” She needs him like she needs air at this point.

“How long, sweetheart?” The second finger is joined by a third and her eyes roll back, her legs tremble, and Aaron kisses her to bring her attention back **.**

Words don’t want to form - there’s another half-hearted attempt at a response, and at this point he’s unable to deny her anything, so he skates his thumb across her clit three times **.** _That_ gets another reaction, one he likes, and he twists his fingers inside of her and presses up, hitting _that_ spot. She nearly flies off the bed. **  
**

“ _ Fuck, _ ” she stutters, her head thrown back and her eyes closed, one arm thrown over her face. “Oh my God. Again, p-please.” 

_ Some things, _ he thinks,  _ never change _ . “Oh sweetheart, I haven’t even gotten started.” And then he pulls his hand back, and Emily’s bereft wail only makes him smirk. He moves up next to her head, running his fingers through her hair lovingly as she glares at him. His slow, deliberate touches are a direct contrast to her impatience, and it only adds to her visible, mounting frustration.

“Why the fuck did you stop?” She gets a leg around his waist, rocks her hips, whining again when he moves away even further. 

“I think you might enjoy this more,” he says, low and dark in her ear, followed by a kiss that makes her dizzy. Then his hand is expertly moving between her legs again, and the moan that escapes this time tells him it won’t be long. He coaxes the first one out of her with the pad of his thumb and his voice in her ear. It takes only a few minutes before she’s practically writhing in his bed, a near constant string of vocalizations coming from her. He murmurs to her, talks her up until she’s begging him. “You’re _so_ close, aren’t you?” He flicks and presses his thumb, and then does it again, shushing her with another well-timed kiss. “I haven’t forgotten,” he whispers in her ear, “Exactly how to make you scream.” And then, like on cue, she does, with a sharp cry and another arch of her spine as her legs start to shake. He’s prepared for it and even though she tries to twist away, the sensation of it all too intense, he pins her hips down with one hand, her left leg with his knee, and strokes her through it, not even concerned that she most likely woke at least one neighbor beside him.

“My God.” Emily’s chest is still heaving, her skin now flushed red as Aaron moves up to settle next to her. He presses his hand to her heart, a kiss to the side of her breast, then his lips to hers. She looks completely dazed, her movements uncoordinated as she reaches for him and completely misses. 

“Not exactly, but I’m flattered.” He looks ridiculously proud of himself, a shit-eating grin on his face as he trails his fingers over her stomach again. 

“You’re such an ass.” She slaps his shoulder good-naturedly, taking a few deep breaths as her heart stops racing. “Sometimes.” 

He feigns hurt, then winks. “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t hurl insults right before I’m about to make you come again.” 

Her eyes widen in surprise.  _ Surely he can’t be serious  _ \- she’s barely recovered from the first one. “Aaron you can’t be -” 

He gives her a quick reassuring kiss, hardly giving her any time to think about his intentions. Aaron shoulders her legs open, resting her knees up and over his arms. There’s nothing quite like the intimacy of this, she thinks with a shudder as he kisses her inner thighs. She’s not used to it - _ years have passed since they’ve been this close-  _ but it’s  _ him _ and despite everything that’s happened, there’s an innate element of trust she has in him like this she’s had with no other. 

She’s still sensitive from before so when he spreads her open again with his fingers he’s gentle, and it’s only seconds until his mouth is on her now, his tongue delving inside of her and Emily loses all semblance of thought. He gives her one long, languid lick, the flat of his tongue against her and her fingers are in his hair for leverage. Another stroke of his tongue, coupled with the push of it inside once again sends her right into her second climax. It rips through her in a series of waves. She grabs at his hair and pulls, his name falling from her lips as she rides it out, his mouth still moving but casually, until she finally stills. 

“Get up here and kiss me, Aaron,” she rasps, reaching for him with unsteady hands.

Aaron moves up her body again, soothing the spots his teeth had caught earlier. Her stomach is covered with little red marks by now that will be more noticeable tomorrow, and this time he leaves a few extra ones on her hips for good measure. He finally comes to rest between her legs again, hovering above her, his eyes on hers. “You’re  _ so _ beautiful, you know that, right?” 

“You always say that.” Emily blushes, her fingers running over his face. “Even before you always did.” 

“Because you are.” He leaves a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I’ll never stop telling you that.” He leans over to the night stand drawer, digging around for one of the shiny foil packets in the box he hasn’t actually opened. 

She flushes scarlet, shaking her head and swatting his hand away from the drawer. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“You mean we don’t need -”

She silences him with a kiss, or something along the lines of one, licking into this mouth and taking control. At this point all she wants is him inside of her, even after how sensitive she is, thanks to the two orgasms she’s already had. 

“ _ Emily _ .” He’s hovering above her, not moving until she gives the okay.

She nods her head, resting her hands on his shoulders. 

He shifts, she lifts, locking her legs around his back with her knees pressed into his sides. There’s a moment of adjustment as he hovers above her, strokes himself twice before the initial press into her, and then the pinch and stretch of her body relearning his. It’s familiar and yet completely foreign. It makes her eyes water and her heart ache for all the years they’ve missed, for every moment that brought them back to this very place **.** Aaron planned on doing this slowly (for both of their sakes) but Emily has other ideas, clearly **.** She tightens her legs around him, digging her heels into his lower back and lifting her hips up to take him in further. He can’t resist and pushes in the rest of the way, having to remind himself how to breathe when he finally can’t go any further. “Oh my God, Aaron.” She tightens her hold on his shoulders, her breath starting to come in tiny pants.

“Fuck, Emily,” he mutters as she bites her lip and her eyes close, then open again. “That wasn’t … I didn’t mean to -” He touches his hand to her cheek, his thumb brushing away one of the tears that have beaded in the corner of her eye. “Sweetheart,” he begins, his eyes never leaving hers yet he’s unable to formulate words for his question, using his other thumb to wipe away the tear from her other eye. 

“I’m _fine_ ,” she says, her head nestled amongst his pillows and her hair spread out like a dark wave. “That’s not why.” She doesn’t have to elaborate; he already knows what she means. Emily bows her head, burying her face into his neck, scraping her nails down his back as he remains still, leaving kisses on her neck and shoulders, not daring to move just yet. “Aaron, move. _Please_ ,” she chokes, pushing her hips into his. 

He holds himself up with one hand, brings hers over her head with the other hand, linking their fingers together as he sets a pace that makes her eyes burn **.** It’s not exactly gentle but insistent, slow, intense. His movements are deliberate, a reminder of just how well he’s remembered. Not that she’s forgotten, either. 

“You feel so  _ fucking  _ good,” he growls, his hand squeezing hers as he takes her closer and closer to her peak. “ _ Emily.” _ His own end is near, but he’ll be damned if he goes before she does. He whispers a few other things that make her simultaneously blush and smile before picking up his pace at her urging. It’s a relief for him, too, the way she’s now meeting his insistence with a fervor of her own.

There’s a slew of single-syllable words coming from her, an incoherent string of affirmations and expletives in between pants, and Aaron releases her hands to bring his arm down to slide beneath her, pulling her to his chest before he sends her into her third orgasm. This time, she starts to flutter around him, her back arching and her arms tightening around his neck, moaning into his mouth when he puts his lips to hers. The squeeze of her around him sends him over too, his hips giving one final thrust before spilling into her with a groan. 

It takes her a few minutes to regather her wits, but it takes him even longer, which makes her feel oddly triumphant for some reason **.** She stays quiet, her audible breaths soon slowing, and she reaches for the sheets, stealing a few glances in his direction. 

“I’d say we’re not too out of practice, actually” Aaron jokes, leaving a kiss on her cheek before he gets up and disappears down the hallway. He returns a short moment later, carrying a glass of water and a warm towel once he’s able to move again. He knows her rituals even now, and averts his eyes as she cleans up the reminder of them both from between her legs as a silence falls between them.

Over the years, silence is something they’ve had a lot of. Intentional silence, years of silence, blissful silence. This time, it’s contemplative silence, each of them comforted by the presence of the other, yet unable to formulate the thoughts to explain the total culmination of the tension between them, what’s been brewing since she’s been back. It’s oddly disorienting, but his hand finds hers, giving a gentle squeeze, a reminder that he’s still there. He breathes a sigh of relief when she squeezes back. 

“When did you get a tattoo?” It’s the first thing he asks, questioningly and cautiously.  _ There’s still so much he doesn’t know _ . “You never mentioned it.” 

She isn’t looking at him, but instead the ceiling, as if she’ll find the answer there. “A long time ago. Sometimes I forget I even have it.” It’s true - it reminds her of a different time, a memory of dark days and even darker thoughts, but it’s part of her now, so she turns to her side and smiles at him as convincingly as she can. “You know what it is, right?” 

“I thought it looked familiar.” He brushes her hair from her face, cups her cheek. “Do you still have … the necklace?” 

“Of course.” What she doesn’t tell him is it’s hidden somewhere in a drawer. She hasn’t been able to wear it again, but she’d never get rid of it.  _ Maybe one day.  _

He seems to like that answer,  _ even if it’s not the full truth _ , and he pulls her into his arms, a hand on her lower back and his other on her head, drawing her a little closer when he feels the pebbled skin under his fingers. “Are you cold?” 

“A little. Why?” 

“You’re shaking.” He pulls the covers up, reaching for the thicker blanket even though  _ he _ thinks it’s warm in his room, and she smiles appreciatively. “You feel like an ice cube.” Drawing her a little closer, he tucks her head under his chin and kisses her temple. “You ok? You’re so quiet.”

“I’m just thinking,” she says quietly. “I’m okay.” 

“About what?” The heaviness in her voice is something he’s heard before, which makes him nervous.

“How long has it been?” She wonders, tracing back through her memories of the years, some unbearably painful. “Since the last time we …” Emily trails off. She rests her head against his chest, closing her eyes with a sigh. 

“Too long.” He brings his hand up to stroke her hair, threading his fingers through it. It’s a reminder of how much he’s always loved her hair. “I missed you.” There’s something about it that still feels incredibly wrong to say, even if he’s already said it more than once. “What made you change your mind...about this?” 

She turns on her side to face him, propping herself up on one elbow, a soft smile on her face. “It was … a couple of things. I don’t know. In Miami, seeing JJ with Will … he was going to walk away. Right out of her life, because that's what he thought she wanted. I didn’t … I didn’t want you to do … I don’t know.” She looks uncomfortable, clearly put on the spot. Talking about her own emotions has never exactly been a strength of hers **.** “I didn’t want you to do the same. **”**

**“** I think it’s clear I wouldn’t do that, Emily.”

What’s  _ clear _ is that was  _ not _ the right thing to say. Her face darkens like a stormcloud; she puts a few inches of space between them. 

“But you’ve done it before.” It’s the way she doesn’t look away, how she doesn’t even flinch when she says it that gets him. As painful of a memory it is, she lived through it, it’s part of her, and she’s smart enough to know better this time. Despite what they’ve built since she’s been part of the BAU, what they’ve been through, and how they’ve grown, some of the old shadows of doubt are still there, roaring their way back. 

He’s not entirely surprised. Aaron reaches over, touches her face, cups her cheek. There isn’t much he can say to assure her right now; it has to be earned back. “Emily, I think we’ve both come a long way since then.” 

“But a lot has happened, Aaron.” She looks away, even though his hand is still on her face. “And despite how far we’ve come, I haven’t forgotten any of it.” 

“I know.” He brushes his thumb back and forth a few times, feeling the skin flush under his fingertip.

“Do you ever think about it? Everything?” 

_ He does. Every damn day. _ “Of course I do, Emily.” 

“I don’t know.” She attempts to roll over and turn away but he keeps her in place, unwilling to let her shy away from the conversation they need to have. It’s what ruined them the last time. He’s not willing to make the same mistake twice. 

“Talk to me, Sweetheart. Please. Just talk to me.” 

“I … this is why I told you before we shouldn’t do this.” The adrenaline and thrill of it all is starting to wear off, and now they’re faced with the heavy reality of the situation, and the consequences that lie ahead. “There’s a lot to consider.” 

“What do you mean, consider?”

“I don’t know how I feel about … going all in again. Being something … real.” 

_ Something real. _ “But earlier you said -” 

“I know. And … I’m not denying what I said earlier. But I don’t - I can’t - if this doesn’t work out then what do we -” She looks  _ afraid _ , a glimpse of the old Emily ghosting her features.

“Emily, Em. Sweetheart.” He reaches for her hands that are pressed over her face, pulling at her wrists gently. “You’re jumping so far ahead of things. We just -” 

“But am I? The last time we … look what happened, Aaron. We got so far in over our heads and when we realized it, it was too late. We crashed and burned.” 

He flinches at her words, taken aback at her honesty, and he has to search his own that don’t come.

“ _ You  _ may have moved on quickly, but I wasn’t as lucky.” Her cheeks are red with embarrassment by now. “I can’t do that to myself again, Aaron. I won’t.” 

“You aren’t the only one who never exactly moved on, Emily.” It’s a quiet admission, his own eyes downcast. 

_ That _ seems to silence her for a few moments, until she takes a deep breath. “But you weren’t the one who had your heart broken, Aaron. I  _ know  _ things are different. I know we’ve had time. A lot of time. But I need to think about this.” She rolls over, her back to him, bringing her knees to her chest. “I’m sorry for bringing this up. If you want me to go, I will.” 

“Stop, Emily. You know that’s not what I want.” With a heavy sigh he pulls her into his arms, her back against his chest, slipping an arm around her waist. At first she’s hesitant, stiff as a board against him but eventually she relaxes into him, yawning hugely as the fatigue in her body catches up with her mind.  _ It’s a start, a tentative step in the right direction.  _

“I’m so tired.” She brings her hand to cover his, tentatively. “Thanks for not kicking me out,” she adds, her words heavy with exhaustion. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize. We’ll find a way,” Aaron whispers over her shoulder, the same words he’d used before, many years ago. He doesn’t expect a response and he doesn’t get one. It has to be early morning by now; luckily they have a later start tomorrow. It’ll buy them a few extra hours of sleep, even though it won’t be nearly enough. “Close your eyes. Get some rest. I’ll wake you up in the morning.” He kisses the spot on her neck he can reach, and he hears Emily sigh just the tiniest bit before snuggling against him. For now, it’s enough **.**

Soon after, she’s sleeping soundly against him, and he succumbs to his own exhaustion soon after, his body curled around hers and an arm around her waist. It’s how they stay until the next morning. 

…

By some luck of the draw, he ends up in Boston on a case with Rossi two days later, and she’s in Silver Spring with JJ, Morgan, and Reid. 

His case is one of those that linger for awhile - a victim of battered woman syndrome about to be convicted of murdering her abusive husband. The BAU handles a stalker situation. It’s an unusual case for them, but JJ seems determined to take it on, doing so with a ferocity Emily’s never seen in her.

Emily’s glad she can be there for her, because she seems a _tiny_ bit off for a reason she can’t quite put her finger on just yet. JJ takes the case hard, and incredibly personally, and after it’s all over, Emily suggests drinks, because they both clearly have a lot on their minds. Knocking a few back wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“I wish I could,” JJ says regretfully but with a grateful smile. “I’m … I’m really just not feeling great.” She looks pale and tired, like she could use a break, a nap, or a vacation. “I think I’m going to head home … eat some ice cream. Raincheck?”

“Sounds about right,” Emily nods in agreement, trying to hide her slight disappointment. She’s not quite ready to go home, and seeing Allison probably isn’t the best idea either. It would take her friend less than five minutes to figure out what had happened between her and Aaron the other day. “And yeah. Next time.” 

The space while he’s in Boston and she’s in Silver Spring is good - some time away is needed. They talk on the phone a few times - he keeps it light, making a few jokes about Dave’s near celebrity status with the Boston District Attorney’s office. It makes her laugh, but she’s not even close to being in the same headspace as him. He senses it, yet he doesn’t push it. 

But after the case is done and he’s on his way home, she finds herself dialing his phone with a quick prayer Rossi can’t tell it’s her on the other line. 

“Hey.” 

_ Good. simple. Nondescript.  _ She breathes a quick sigh of relief when he answers. “How’s the drive?” 

“Not bad.” He’s being purposefully vague, even though Dave already knows exactly who is on the other end of the phone call. It’s more for her sake than his. “How are things going over there?” 

“Uhm.” She stumbles over words. “It’s alright. We wrapped the case a few hours ago.You?” 

“We’re still in Pennsylvania. A couple more hours left.” Aaron glances over at Dave, whose eyes are firmly on the road. “You sound upset.” 

“I’m … Uh. Do you have Jack tonight?” 

“He’s with Haley,” Aaron says smoothly. “Is everything alright?” 

“It’s … it’s been a tough day.” She’s quiet, obtuse, and the fact that she doesn’t give him a straight answer tells him everything he needs to know. 

“I’ll be there in a few hours.” 

She objects, telling him she’s fine, that it’s not necessary, but he knows better.

True to his word, he shows up at her door soon after saying goodbye to Dave in the parking lot in Quantico. Emily doesn’t say anything, just wraps her fingers around his tie and drags him the few steps into her apartment before slamming the door. 

Aaron’s mouth is hot on her skin, his hands touching her everywhere and it burns to the point of pain. This time is more frantic than their first encounter a few days ago. It’s going to leave her bruised and sore - the marble countertop has done a number on her back, let alone the imprint of his hands seared into her hips. But he goes down on her, lifting her right on the counter as soon as he walks in the door. Then fucks her hard and fast, bent over the back of the couch. He finishes with her, legs almost collapsing on them both. It’s exactly what she needs to forget about the last few days.

The comedown is longer, and the total opposite of their coupling less than an hour before. She’s on her side, so is he, wrapped together like two halves of a whole. “Your skin is different, you know,” he says into the dark after they’re finally able to breathe again. He’s been rubbing her back for the last five minutes. “I noticed it last week … it’s softer.” 

She knits her eyebrows together, eyeing him with curiosity. 

“I can’t explain it,” he says with a sheepish grin, pulling her closer. “But I like it.” 

“Your arms are bigger.” Emily whispers back, squeezes the muscles in his bicep. “You didn’t have those in your security days.” 

“Have you been checking me out, Prentiss?” He quips. “Sounds unprofessional.” 

Emily laughs. “I think I’ve earned the right to, you know.” She gives the other arm a deft squeeze. “You could toss me around with those.”

His eyes darken as he grabs her by the upper arms, using sheer strength to lift and settle her so she’s straddling his lap again, her knees on either side of his hips. “Why don’t we test that theory?” His hands slide to her hips, rolling them back and forth as her head tips back, a flush rising to her bare chest. 

“Deal.” 

…

They slip back into a familiar intimacy, reminiscent of years ago, yet a stark contrast to what they were before. There’s history but there’s also a refined, renewed, fragile trust that’s been slowly rebuilding over time. It’s subtle, but it’s there -  an equal mix of give and take. He doesn’t push and she doesn’t doubt (at least not as much). It’s another step, this time in the right direction. 

Dealing with Haley since he moved out hasn’t gotten any easier, not that he thought it would. They keep things relatively amicable in Jack’s presence, but most of their exchanges are awkward to say the least. They don’t fight, but they don’t need to, because the tension between them both is enough. He knows he’s responsible for most of it, so he does his best to meet her on her terms, letting her call most of the shots.

“He needs a new lunch box,” Aaron says as he passes over his son’s backpack and overnight bag in the driveway of the house. His old house. He’s  _ distracted _ , because he’s running fifteen minutes late, and he’d told Emily he was leaving almost a half hour ago. “Something spilled in that one and it won’t come out. I tried washing it a few times.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Haley says, scooping up Jack’s things. “We’re going to the store anyway. I’m sure I can find something that works.” 

Aaron glances at his watch, shifting from foot to foot while Haley sets Jack’s things down in the front seat of the car. Glancing at his watch again, he frowns, because it’s  _ already _ going to be a forty minute drive to her house.  _ 66 will be a parking lot at this hour,  _ he thinks. 

“You have somewhere to be?” Haley catches him instantly, a knowing look in her eyes mixed with something else. It’s a question and she’s prying at the same time - gathering information yet feeling him out too. 

It catches him off guard, and he stumbles for an appropriate response, running his hand through his hair, his hand sliding back to the empty holster on his belt. “No. I don’t want to hit traffic on my way back.”  _ It’s not worth getting into it now. She doesn’t have to know.  _

“You’re sleeping with Emily again.” He expects to hear bitterness in her voice but he doesn’t. Haley’s voice is more like a confirmation than a question. It’s as if she already knows the answer, and almost as if she’s relieved. 

“Haley, can we discuss this -” 

She holds up her hand to cut him off mid sentence. “Aaron, there’s something I need to tell you. Something I haven’t told you.” She glances at him, then at the ground, then back up at him. “I slept with someone … while we were … we were still together.” 

It hits him like a harsh slap in the face, a final twist of a knife. He  _ shouldn’t _ care at this point but he does, and the blood rushes from his head in the seconds immediately following her revelation. “What? What are you saying?” It’s like the air goes from his lungs too, because he stumbles over his words. “This happened … when?

“It only happened twice.” Haley can’t meet his gaze; she stubs the ground with her shoe. “One of Jessica’s friends. She doesn’t know … please don’t tell her.” 

“Twice.” His jaw tightens. “Once is a terrible mistake at best. Twice is ...you really have no excuse.” 

“I was angry, Aaron. Hurt and angry and lost and … it wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did, and … I’m sorry. I was  _ so _ angry at you.” 

“Angry.” He scoffs, scowling at her. “Like that makes a difference? We were  _ married. _ I wasn’t perfect, I never claimed to be, but I never  _ cheated _ on you, Haley. When did this happen?”

“After I found out about Emily. A little while after the Superbowl.” She glances back at the car, at their son in his carseat. From the backseat, Jack waves through the window, a coloring book in one hand and a fistful of markers in the other. “It wasn’t working. Nothing was working.”

Aaron waves back, forcing himself to smile at his son. “You mean when we were  _ trying _ to fix things?” He remembers those days well **-** they’d been overwhelmed with cases, trying to process the shitstorm aftermath of Atlanta as Gideon simultaneously fell apart, leaving them grasping at straws to just make it through a day. He’d been absent, unaware, and inattentive **.** It explains the mysterious phone calls, her own irritability in those days. It explains almost everything. Only he’d been oblivious to it all, because his attention had been everywhere but where it should have been.

“You gave up on fixing anything the moment Emily walked into your office, Aaron.”

“That doesn’t make it excusable. I never  _ cheated _ , Haley.”  _ Maybe not physically. _

Her face softens, instead of a frown now she just looks sad. “You’re right. And I am sorry, Aaron. I regret it … every day. I told him we can’t … that there’s nothing there.” 

“Well I guess it doesn’t matter now, does it?” 

“You deserved to know the truth.” 

“I’m glad you get to clear your conscience, Haley. I hope it was worth it.” He wants to get away as fast as he can, wishing he could just take Jack and go. 

“Aaron, can we at least talk about this?”

He shakes his head. “No. There’s nothing to talk about.” 

“Daddy!” Jack is still waving as the engine revs up, his face pressed up against the glass. “Bye, Daddy!” He looks  _ so _ confused and forlorn, Aaron thinks, unable to suppress the rising guilt he feels knowing his son’s life has forever changed so drastically. Even on some rudimentary level, Jack understands things have changed, and the unfairness of it all haunts him every day. 

“Bye, Buddy,” Aaron says, his voice thick, as he waves to his son. “See you real soon.”

The last thing he sees is Jack’s face fading into the distance as the car disappears, leaving him alone in the driveway.

…

When Aaron calls her, saying something came up with Jack and that he’ll see her tomorrow morning at the BAU, Emily affably agrees without hesitation. She knows his son comes first; it’s never been explicitly stated but it doesn’t have to be. He’s less than convincing at giving the impression nothing is wrong, and even though he knows she doesn't believe him, she doesn’t push it.

Which is why she isn’t completely shocked when she opens the door to find Aaron with a pint of ice cream in one hand, his car keys in the other. He looks dejected, and something about seeing him  _ still _ in his suit, with dark circles under his eyes, his tie loosened, at 10 PM makes her heart ache just a little.  _ Does he ever give himself a break?  _ “I thought you might show up.” Emily glances down at her own attire - an oversized shirt that hits midthigh and nothing else, and then back at him.  _ Something is wrong. _ She’d known earlier when he called, but pushing him wouldn’t have gotten them anywhere then or now, so she just waits patiently for him to speak.

“Do you always answer the door without pants on?” He’s less than subtly staring at her bare legs.

“No one ever knocks on my door this late.” She doesn’t make a move to cover herself, just drapes one long leg over the other. “Besides, it’s just you.” 

His face cracks into a self-deprecating smile. “Just me, huh? Thanks.” He stares at her, then the ice cream in his hand. “Are you going to let me in before this melts all over me?” 

She laughs, and for the first time he sees it’s clear how tired she is, too. It’s a reflection of his own exhaustion, he notices, as she starts digging in the drawer for two spoons. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on? If something truly came up with Jack….you’d still be there. You wouldn’t be here.” 

He follows her into her apartment, sinking into one of the barstools at the counter. There’s very little he can hide from her now. Hell - she’s a better profiler than he is - she’ll figure it out eventually. “Haley cheated on me.”

The silverware slides right out of her hands, clattering onto the floor, yet she makes no move to pick it up. “What?”  _ Surely she heard him incorrectly. _

“You heard me.” 

Emily hesitates, choosing her words carefully. “I … my God. Aaron, I’m so sorry.”  _ What a fucking mess this is.  _ “That’s why you … so that’s what came up.” 

“Yeah. I needed some time to think about it all.” He pauses, scrubs at his face with his hands. **“** I can’t say I blame her, honestly. I was... I wasn’t good to her at the end.” 

“That doesn’t give her the right to cheat on you.” She takes the ice cream from him and peels off the lid, grateful for something to do with her hands. “I think you know that.” 

“Maybe not, but she was hurting as much as I was. Just for different reasons.” It’s the look in his face that tells her what he’s about to say next. 

“And just what are those reasons, Aaron?” She turns, reaching into the drawer for a fresh set of spoons when he answers quietly.

“I was always in love with you.”

The clink of the silverware knocking together as she grabs two and slams the drawer shut is the only sound between them. She takes a deep breath, setting the spoons down, staring at him for a few very long seconds. Her eyes say it all, even if she’s not ready to admit it yet out loud. “So are we going to eat this ice cream or not?”

“Aren’t you forgetting bowls?” He lifts an eyebrow, cracks a smile.

Emily offers a cautious smile in return. “In situations like this, I find it’s best to skip the bowl entirely.” 

…

“This stuff is good,” he says a half hour later, passing the now melting carton of ice cream back to her, using his thumb to swipe a glob of chocolate and marshmallow off his suit pants. “Unfortunately for me, you’ve eaten almost all of it.” 

Emily is laying in the bathtub, her hair pulled up on her head, soapy bubbles practically up to her chin. “It's not my fault you got a brain freeze.” She carves out a large bite of the ice cream with her spoon, then another, as gracefully as she can while surrounded by a mountain of bubbles. “Besides, I haven’t had dinner, either.” 

“I’ll make you something when you’re finished.” He’s leaning against the wall next to her, legs crossed at the ankles, outstretched on the tile floor with a spoon in hand. “I guess Haley did have the last laugh, in the end.” 

“I doubt that, Aaron.” She extends a wet hand, touching his shoulder, as drops of water splatter on his pants. “We all do things we … we don’t think we’re capable of, without thinking of how it might hurt someone else, or ourselves.” _She’s glad he can’t see the almost wistful expression that crosses her face_ _at the memories that threaten to spill from their neat boxes in her mind. A time she’d rather forget but never fully will._ “We all have our secrets, and we all make mistakes. This just happened to be Haley’s.” 

_ When did she become so … wise? _

He frowns. “Our marriage was over a long time ago. Before the divorce papers were even written. But I never thought she would have done this.” 

Emily wrings out the puffy sponge, lathering some soap on her chest. “I think you both coped the best way you could, in an impossible situation. It doesn’t make it right, but we’re only human.”

“I hurt you both,” he admits, turning to face Emily with resignation on his face. “I hurt you because of her, and I hurt her because of you.”  _ The circle, or triangle, or whatever the fuck this is, is complete _ . “I’m the common denominator.” 

Emily sighs but says nothing, giving his shoulder another squeeze.

He’s still stuck in his own head a half an hour later, sitting on the edge of her bed as she’s drying off. “I’ll sleep on the couch if you want,” he says out of the blue.

“Why would you do that?” She turns around, narrowing her eyes at him. 

He shrugs. “It seems like the right thing to do … given all of this.” 

“I think we’re past that, Aaron. Don’t be ridiculous.” She rolls her eyes, not unkindly, with something that sounds like a chuckle. As if to prove a point, she drops the towel onto the floor and makes no move to cover herself, unlike the first time he stayed over at her place. 

When she catches him staring, unabashedly, she grins. “I rest my case.” 

They don’t actually sleep together, instead she lays in his arms, the covers pulled up, talking softly until he falls asleep first. And as she closes her own eyes, she realizes, it’s one of the first times in a very long time he’s been vulnerable to  _ her _ .

It’s a change, and maybe very well a start. 

…

A few days later, Aaron calls them in early. It’s one of the few nights they haven’t spent together lately. He’d had Jack at the apartment, and  _ that _ is a conversation they’re not even close to having just yet. The briefing room is oddly quiet, some hushed confusion falling over all of them as they stumble in with coffee in hand and bleary eyes. Even JJ seems to be in the dark about what’s really going on with this new case. He’s intensely focused on the screen, wearing a poker face even she can’t begin to decipher. 

“Don’t get comfortable. There’ll be time to debrief on the plane.” 

Aaron is oddly distracted when he presents the New York case. He hardly looks at any of them as he stares at the computer screen, intensely focused, mumbling something about bringing Garcia along too. Right away Emily knows there’s something he’s  _ not _ telling them. A glance in JJ’s direction yields little to nothing, because clearly there’s still something up with her, too, based on the distant stare in her eyes,  _ and  _ the fact that she’s barely uttered a word all morning. 

It’s the way he mentions Kate Joyner once they’re seated on the plane, so casually, yet so specifically, that Emily can’t help but wonder about all the years she missed. 

“Kate Joyner heads up the New York Field Office. She’s running point on the case and called me directly.”

It now makes sense why JJ was so clueless.

“She’s starting to butt heads with the lead detectives and wanted a fresh set of eyes.” 

Morgan seems impressed by her if not a little put off; Aaron seems to know a little too much about her, as Emily listens to their exchange, pretending to be immersed in the folder in her hands.

“I heard she can be a little bit of a pain in the ass.” 

“I didn’t think so. We liaised when she was still at Scotland yard. I think we’re lucky to have her.”

_ So this is why he was so distracted. This is personal. There’s a history there. You hypocrite, _ Emily thinks to herself, her mind shifting back to where  _ she  _ had been during all those years.  _ We all have secrets. I can hardly judge anyone for theirs, and clearly he has a few.  _ But even Morgan and Reid seem surprised by his praise of her, their own curiosity piqued. 

The blonde woman with the British accent who meets them seconds after they step off the elevator at 26 Fed shockingly resembles Haley, Emily observes immediately, her eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline. It’s actually uncanny how similar they look. It’s like the elephant in the room, something they all think but won’t say. Kate strides toward them, a cool smile on her face. She’s pretty, in a chic, effortless kind of way, even with the dark circles under her eyes, and Emily almost feels better about the ones she’s currently sporting. 

“Aaron,” she says warmly, going right in for a hug.  _ First name basis?  _ Emily thinks with interest. 

“Kate.” 

She carries herself well, professional and brisk, but there’s something jumpy about her Emily can’t put her finger on. Maybe it’s the way she only really looks at Aaron during their initial, awkward introductions, or the way she subtly stares Morgan down with something that looks like resentment in her eyes. 

If anyone can ease her anxiety, Emily reasons, it’s Aaron. He’s his typical calm, collected self, yet warmer than normal, as if they’re sharing a secret or something no one else is supposed to know.

“Can I have a word with you in private?” Kate leans in close, all but ignoring the rest of them. Aaron doesn’t even hesitate, quickly disappearing with Kate behind a closed door, and Emily can’t help but roll her eyes.

“They, um, _liased_ at Scotland Yard,” Emily murmurs to JJ as Kate and Aaron disappear behind a closed door, leaving the rest of them with Detective Brustin in the middle of the field office. Her quip gets a chuckle from JJ, which makes Emily feel better, because whatever was bothering her before is clearly _still_ on her mind.

“That was strange.” JJ is the first one to call it, and Morgan just eyes the whole thing suspiciously. 

...

Somehow, it works that Aaron spends most of his time in Manhattan reliving his Scotland Yard days with Kate Joyner while the rest of them team up with the NYPD and FBI. Emily can’t say she blames him; it gives him a sense of renewed purpose, being needed the way Kate is so clearly relying on him. That being said **,** It gives her the slightest touch of satisfaction that she’s paired up with Detective Cooper, with his cocky bravado and boyish good looks. He keeps her on her toes, and it’s good fun to be around him despite the heaviness of the case. Cooper is flattering and bold - something she’s  _ not _ entirely used to - but it works, they get along, and he’s good at his job. She respects that. 

It’s a blur of a day, full of back and forth all over the city, ending with a particularly tense exchange between Kate and Morgan. She makes a mental note to ask Aaron about it later.

JJ’s news takes them all by surprise, in the middle of the hotel lobby no less, with Will making a  _ very _ unexpected appearance. It’s as if she’s still processing things herself when she tells them, with almost a shy smile on her face.

Emily is the first one to speak amongst all of them, wrapping a visibly overwhelmed JJ into a warm hug with a brilliant smile on her face. She hugs Will too, genuinely happy for them both. Aaron has to avert his eyes when she glances in his direction once the initial shock dies down. Whether it was intentional or not, he knows her well enough to know all that’s hidden there, what she’d never say aloud. 

Tensions are still at an all time high, even with JJ’s surprise announcement. Tomorrow will be another tough day, and everyone makes a quick excuse to retreat to their rooms for the evening. No one suspects that he spends the night in the city that never sleeps in her hotel room overlooking Midtown. 

When Aaron knocks on her door precisely forty minutes  _ after _ going their separate ways in the lobby, she’s wrapped in a towel, fresh from the shower. Emily barely says a word, dropping the towel and then to her knees and backing him up against a wall, pawing at his belt buckle as the door clicks shut. He’s taken by surprise, his knees bowing, his hand fisting her damp dark behind her head. “ _ Emily,”  _ he grunts, and all she wants to do is this. It’s never something he asks for but something she enjoys doing, and given the culmination of the stress of the day, she’s seeking power, control, an escape. He’s more than happy to appease her. 

After he spills down her throat (at her insistence), he backs her across the room until her legs hit the mattress. She falls onto her back and drags him down with her. Even though it’s late, the clock on the nightstand already nearing midnight **,** Aaron spends the next two hours stretching his creative thinking skills with inventive ways of making her come, over and over again. In fact, she does, four times, much to her own exhausted surprise. The final time they go together, practically wrapped around one another, their mouths sealed together in a heated kiss.

6:30 AM comes quick, with the sun starting to lift in the sky in the distance. They’re both tired, too tired for anything besides a few peaceful, quiet moments, having only gotten a few hours of sleep. Their dark heads are tucked together between the stark white hotel pillows, sharing gentle touches and kisses. It’s a stark contrast to what they’ll become once they leave this room, formidable agents wielding guns and taking down a terrorist cell \- but for a short time, it’s a much needed semblance of normalcy, a respite from the world that looms just outside the window. 

“What’s going on with Morgan?” Emily asks cautiously, stroking his bare chest with her fingertips. “He seems a little … on edge.” 

Aaron grimaces, closing his eyes for a moment. “It’s complicated.” 

_ Of course it is.  _ “Does Kate have anything to do with it?” 

“You could say that.” He fluffs one of the pillows behind his head, tugging the blanket up over them both when the hotel room air conditioner kicks on. “FBI Brass has told her if she doesn’t take this case home, she’s going to be reassigned. Morgan is at the top of the list to replace her.” 

Emily whistles softly, feeling a brief touch of sympathy for Kate. Suddenly her aloofness and cool exterior make perfect sense, as does the way she’s clung to Aaron the last few days. Right now,  _ she’s _ the one whose neck is on the line **.** Emily knows the feeling all too well. It’s a shame, because from her observations, the woman is damn good at her job. “Does  _ he _ know that?” 

“He does now.” 

“I’m sure he had a few opinions about it.” 

“Of course he did. Kate’s not taking it well, either.” With a hand on her hip he pulls her closer, tangling their legs together. 

“That explains a lot.” Emily rests her head on his chest, taking a brief glance at the clock. He’ll have to leave soon; she’ll have to go downstairs and pretend like none of this ever happened. “Have you talked to her about it?

“Yeah. It’s been tense. I’ve tried to reassure her but … there’s not much I can say. Especially with everything going on. There’s a lot at play.” 

“You’re doing a good thing, you know.” She snuggles against him, snaking an arm around his waist, scratching her fingers up and down his back. 

A few more blissful moments of silence pass, lost in their own respective thoughts, until there’s no denying the brilliant sun that’s starting to rise in the sky, a sign it’s time. 

“I have to get back and shower.” Aaron finally says reluctantly after a few more minutes, throwing back the covers. He leans over to kiss Emily before he digs through the mess on the ground for at least some of the clothes he’d shown up in. “It’s already close to seven.” 

“I thought we weren’t meeting until 8:30.” She yawns and stretches, desperately in need of a coffee, and some food too, judging by how loudly her stomach is starting to grumble. Maybe JJ will be hungry. But then she remembers Will is still here, and they of all people deserve some privacy. That leaves Morgan and Reid. 

“I’m meeting Kate an hour before that. She wants to go over some of the security footage before we brief this morning.” 

Emily nods, lifting an eyebrow. “She is pretty hell bent on joining us for the profile.” 

“Cut her some slack,” he says gently, coming to sit on her edge of the bed. He puts his shoes on and shrugs into his suit jacket, even though by now it’s wrinkled and could probably use a trip to the laundromat. “She’s under a lot of pressure. I think we’d all feel the same if we were in her shoes.” He leans over to kiss her, slipping an arm underneath her to pull her close. 

“Maybe remind Morgan of that too.” Emily loops an arm around his neck as her lips press against his. “You’re coming back tonight?” 

“You know the answer to that.” 

...

Being in New York City reminds her of every reason why she rarely ever goes in the first place. It’s stuffy, cramped, and while the emotions are high, the stakes are much higher. The agents are short and brusque, clearly unimpressed by the BAU presence, and if it weren’t for Detective Cooper and his wisecracks, she’d feel even more like an outsider in the FBI Headquarters. Aaron stays close to Kate again that morning, but Emily catches the mark on his neck she’d left behind, and she can’t help but grin to herself in the midst of giving the profile, standing in front of the entire disgruntled NYPD **.**

But later that night, he’s true to his word. On their second one in this  _ very _ fancy hotel, she leaves a new mark, on the other side of his neck, and a few on his chest for good measure. He returns the favor, except the ones he leaves are hidden underneath the button down shirt she’d packed for this very issue. And shortly after that, he takes her up against the wall of the shower, and then once in the bed. 

...

Cooper is in rare form the next morning, their third day in the city. Or maybe that’s just his usual, Emily thinks as they move through the subway platform. Emily profiles him easily, maybe just a little too easily, and he’s clearly impressed. She’s lucky he’s  _ not _ a profiler, because he’d most likely have already caught on to the fact that she’s limping  _ just _ a little, thanks to Aaron’s persistence over the last two nights **.** Even so, she can’t help but feel fond of him.

Which is why, only a short time later, as the medics load Cooper into the ambulance with a gunshot wound to the chest, Emily feels like she might vomit right there onto the street. She’s more than shaken up - of course she is - having watched him nearly bleed out right in front of her. She barely knows him so it feels like overkill, but by the time Aaron and Kate show up, barely an inch of space between them, Emily can’t hide the shock on her face as they try to piece together just what the  _ fuck _ is happening. 

_ This is not good. They’ve been wrong about this for days, and it’s only starting to make sense. It might be too late. For Cooper. For Kate. For all of them.  _

“Emily, talk to me,” Aaron says when they have a brief moment alone when everyone else is distracted. He’s been eyeing her like a hawk for the last twenty minutes.  _ Technically _ , she reminds herself patiently,  _ it’s part of his job to ensure she can resume her duties _ . Of course it’s so much more than that, but they can’t show it. And she just watched her partner get shot. 

But there’s no time for that now. 

“ _ Emily _ .” 

She shivers, even though it’s balmy outside and she’s still wearing her suit jacket. “Don’t  _ Emily _ me, Aaron. I’m  _ fine _ . Go to Kate. She’s looking for you.” Emily nods her head in Kate’s direction - even from her distance away from them, it’s clear she’s waiting for Aaron, her arms folded over her chest, a touch of despondency in her eyes. She shakes her head. “I’ll see you later tonight. Back at the hotel.” 

“I’ll call you when - “

“ _ Aaron _ . Go _.  _ I’m fine.” She waves him away but when he turns to go, she lets her eyes linger on him and Kate as they hurry away together, disappearing from her sight. 

Detective Brustin’s face is grim when she goes to get news on Cooper. His blunt exterior is visibly shaken; Emily can’t help but feel for him. For as snarky as he’s been, he looks completely crestfallen. “He’s still in surgery. It doesn’t look good.” 

“We think we know why this is happening,” she says, slowly beginning to explain their theories.

It all goes to hell shortly after that, when an SUV explodes on an open street.

…

She has to compartmentalize this for the time being; there’s no other choice. 

Their last night in New York is one of the longest of her life. The aftermath of the explosion, the moments of terror not knowing  _ if _ he was alive or  _ where  _ he even was, the final understanding of motive and intent. They watch the security camera footage of the explosion, and each time he gets blown backwards, Emily cringes, but forces herself not to look away.

At the hospital there’s a steely anger in his eyes. He fastens his vest around his sore body, moving slowly enough to show he’s stiff and in pain. Emily only half listened as Morgan ran through the laundry list of Aaron’s injuries - acute ear trauma, shrapnel to his leg, and a slew of nasty cuts and scrapes all over his face. She can barely look at him for more than a few seconds at a time, because the thought of  _ him _ sustaining the blow Kate did, or worse, is more than she can bear at this point. 

What she’s more than aware of is the fact there’s no talking him out of going back into the field. Everyone else is thinking the same thing, even if they don’t say it - that he should _really_ sit this one out. They piece it all together bit by terrifying bit, and the remorse on his face is evident when he makes the connection about driving the ambulance into St. Barclay’s. There’s a bomb somewhere in the hospital, and the clock is ticking. He’s seeing this through to the end. 

But when it’s all over, Aaron disappears somewhere without saying a word while she waits for backup with Rossi and Reid. Emily doesn’t have to ask to know exactly where he’s going.

**…**

She finds him in the hotel bar that night, after the initial chaos has died down. There will be plenty of pieces to pick up tomorrow, but for now, they’ve done enough. Aaron’s eyes are on the endless bottles lining the shelves, like tiny diamonds dancing in the dimming lights. 

There’s a drink in his hands but she’s relieved to see it’s barely been touched. Which is why she pulls out the stool next to him, and reaches for it without saying a word. She takes a sip and immediately makes a face -  _ whatever _ is in the glass could singe the hair right out of her nose. 

“How’d you find me?” He doesn’t look at her. In fact, he doesn’t even look away from the wall. 

“You think you’re that transparent?” She lifts an eyebrow and he turns his head, giving her an up-close view of each cut on his face. “Not many other places I’d rather be, if I were you.” 

“I’m lousy company tonight.” He takes a small sip, clutching the glass just a little too tightly. 

“Never.” Emily swipes it out of his grasp, pushing it off to the side. “Besides, I couldn’t sleep either.” She hopes he doesn’t see through that. In reality, she’s exhausted, but the thought of him sitting alone makes her chest hurt just a little too much.” 

“Really. You don’t have to stay.”

“Aaron, are you -” 

“I’m fine, Emily.” He brushes her off, not because he’s angry with her or because he got dangerously close to facing his own mortality. But because Kate’s dead body in the operating room is another reminder of the toll of this job, how it eats you up and spits you out over time. A reminder of everything he’s lost and could still lose. _She’s somewhere on that list._

“That’s what I would say, too.” It doesn’t take a genius to figure out Kate’s death is impacting him more than even he considered. “It’s okay to not be okay for one night, Aaron.” Emily passes the drink back in his direction but he just shakes his head.

“How’s Agent Cooper?” 

“I heard from Detective Brustin not too long ago. He’s out of surgery. Not out of the woods yet but if he makes it through the night, it’s a good sign.” She can’t hide the relief in her voice. 

“Good.”

She loses track of how long they sit in the bar, side by side without many words exchanged between them. Aaron is the one who stands to go first, subtly offering her his hand. 

And of course, she takes it. 

...

Emily stays close to him in Ohio when they search for the Angel Maker, because she’s worried. They all are, really, so her concerns don’t seem  _ too _ far fetched. It’s obvious he shouldn’t even be on the plane, let alone on the damn case. He toughs it out the first day, even when it’s clear he’s in pain and that his ears are  _ still _ an issue. 

But it’s Aaron, and there’s no telling him otherwise. He’d all but refused when she gingerly suggested he see a doctor for the lingering ear pain, the ringing that’s plagued him since New York. And there isn’t much she can push back on, because if it were her, she’d say the exact same thing. 

It all comes to a head at the graveyard in Lower Canaan, when they exhume the body of the man who is supposed to be long dead **.** The harsh, piercing wail of the crane is clearly excruciating for him, judging by how he’s pressing his hands to his ears, oblivious to the scene around him. And blurring the lines of objectivity once again, she’s at his side, soothing him, comforting, practically _begging_ to help him.

“I’m okay,” he says over and over, calmly but surely, his eyes meeting hers. And even if he’s anything  _ but  _ that, of course he’s not going to admit it. At least not yet.

“You’re doing something about this when we get home,” she orders when the pain seems to have passed, crossing her arms over her chest. “And if you think I’m not serious, try me.” She stalks off to rejoin the rest of the group, knowing she’s won. 

Dave just pretends he doesn’t see anything, like he’s oblivious to the scene right behind him. But when they aren’t looking, he just shakes his head with a roll of his eyes.

_ Amateurs. _

...

“I thought there were no secrets between you.” Emily presses the red headed woman gently a few days later, when they’re  _ still  _ in Ohio. 

“You’ve never been in love, have you?” The woman asks, with hurt in her eyes, betrayed by a dead man, and she doesn’t have to question if she is or isn’t. 

…

He has a bad feeling about Colorado before she and Reid are even on the plane. He’d gone as far as to tell her that the night before she left. She’d been sitting on the counter, her legs crossed at the knees wearing one of his old t-shirts and nothing else, her hair a mess, the shirt wrinkled, as they made a late night dinner of grilled cheese. 

Of course, Aaron is the one doing the cooking.

It hadn’t been their intention to eat this late - it’s past ten, after all - but she’d shown up at his door shortly after eight, and the last two hours have been spent in bed. The only reason they’d gotten up in the first place was due to her audibly rumbling stomach. 

“I think you’re worrying a little too much,” Emily huffs with a roll of her eyes. “It’s a quick trip, and  _ someone _ needs to do it. Besides, I’ll have Reid with me.” 

“That doesn’t exactly make me feel better, you know.” Aaron expertly flips the sandwich in the pan before reaching for what he needs to make his own. “Just the two of you and a child life specialist in the middle of Colorado? I’d feel better if there was _some_ type of backup.” He isn’t privy to all the details, but it all sounds so convoluted it makes his head hurt. The fact that _Emily_ is the one going makes it even worse.

“That would only make them suspicious. You  _ heard _ the woman on the phone, Aaron. They need help. This man is … someone has to stop him.” She presses her hands to her lips, thinking about the pleading call they’d had with Colorado DCS only the day before. “Plus, you already signed off on it.” 

“I know I did. He gives her a hardened look, setting his jaw. “Please promise -”

“I’ll be  _ careful _ , Aaron.” She gives him a reassuring, full smile right back, and his eyes linger on her for a few moments before turning his attention back to the stove. 

“Here, taste this.” He puts one of the grilled cheeses onto a plate, passing it in her direction. “I can make you another one if you’re still hungry.” 

She takes a bite, nodding her head in approval before demolishing half of it. “That’s  _ fantastic.”  _ Sliding off the counter gracefully, Emily wraps her arms around him from behind, pressing her forehead into his back. “That’s probably why I like you so much. You make some delicious grilled cheese.”

Spinning around, he envelopes her in a hug, burying his nose in her hair. “Is that the only reason?” One thing he may never tire of is the feeling of her body against his. 

“You have some … how can I say this …hidden talents,” she says coyly, pushing her hips into his suggestively as she seeks out his mouth with her lips. 

Without warning he dips down and hoists her up, securing her legs around his waist. It takes her by surprise and she yelps right against his ear, her hands clawing at his neck as he holds her up with an impressive amount of strength. Sometimes she forgets just how strong he is. “Aren’t you forgetting dinner?” But she’s already starting to heat up, because somehow he’s gotten his hands under her thighs, and he’s whispering something downright filthy into her ear.

“Dinner’s waited long enough. It can wait a few more minutes.” With a devilish wink he carries her right back to his bedroom. 

They never do in fact make it back to the kitchen. 

…

Aaron all but slams the phone down when he hears Morgan shout his name from the bullpen, ricocheting right through his closed office door. There’s no denying the unmistakable fear in his voice, the urgency.  _ Something is wrong - very wrong _ . Strauss can wait. Dave is out of his office too, looking equally concerned.

“The TV. Prentiss and Reid.” 

He can hardly listen to the reporter outside the ranch.  _ Violent deadly standoff. Forced retreat. 30 minute gun battle. 3 members of child services trapped inside. They’re in the compound _ . 

His hands tighten around the railing, staring down at his team. “All right. That means we’re the lead with hostage rescue and support. Let’s go.”

Less than an hour later, they’re on the way to Colorado. They know things are likely to get worse, but just how much worse, none of them would ever imagine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3 Stay tuned for chapter 40 coming soon!


	40. Forty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all - my apologies for the delay with this one. It took me a little longer than normal for a few reasons, one being that I’m back to work in person after teaching from home for the last two months, which is quite an adjustment. Thank you so very much for the love and support on 39 - hearing from you all makes my day no matter what, and as we look toward the last few chapters (I’m thinking about 4-5 more after this one...cue my own tears), I can’t tell you how much I love and appreciate you all, week after week. Finally, I’d be remiss if I didn’t give a very special thank you to the wonderful AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell for the eleventh hour moral support, for making sense of this chapter in its messy draft form and my incessant rambling about things that have nothing to do with fanfiction, and the pep talks along the way - I’m so very grateful for you! 
> 
> As always, enjoy!

**Chapter 40: For The First Time**

_ And we don't know how, how we got into this mad situation _

_ Only doing things out of frustration _

_ Trying to make it work, but man, these times are hard _

In the tiny bathroom on the plane, he splashes cold water on his face and stares at his ashen reflection in the mirror.  _ Pull yourself together _ . Now isn’t the time for emotions. The team is looking to  _ him _ for direction, for his unwavering leadership, for the calm impassivity that comes with how he handles every case they take on. And now that two of their  _ own _ are in danger, they  _ need _ him in a way like never before. It’s one of the evils of being Unit Chief - the ability to maintain a clear head, along with the required neutrality and objectivity during times like this. It’s a line he’s always been able to maintain with little difficulty. 

Except this is different. This is different, personal, and he’s partly to blame for all of it. He’d been the one to sign off on this, despite the inkling telling him it was a bad idea. He’d pushed his own reservations aside, because Emily had assured him that it would be alright. 

_ And how wrong she’d been. _

“ _ You’re still thinking about it,” she’d said as she laid with her head on his chest, thirty minutes after he’d carried her back to bed, leaving their half-eaten grilled cheese in the kitchen. “Aaron, I’ve dealt with much worse, you know.” He is, of course, oblivious to the true meaning of her statement, and he’d brushed it off as her typical stubbornness, her dedication to the job she does so well.  _

_ “I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”  _

_ She moves quickly, straddling his waist in a smooth shift of her weight, pressing her hands against his chest. “I think,” she whispers, tossing the sheets aside. “I think I should take your mind off of things.” And then she proceeds to rock her hips before sliding down onto him yet again, leaning down to kiss him once more. _

“Aaron.” The knock from the other side of the door is obviously Dave, who has kept a close eye on him since they’d seen the news. It was Dave who reminded him he needed his go-bag when they left the BAU, who reminded him to call Haley and tell her she needed to keep Jack a few extra days. Aaron barely listened as Haley muttered something about his ridiculous schedule and how he’ll miss out on his son’s life, but even that barely registers because his mind is a jumbled mess of what if’s and worse case scenarios. It’s a dangerous, slippery slope, one he shouldn’t go down at all. 

There’s another knock. “Aaron. There’s only one bathroom on this plane, you know.” 

_ Right. _ He pops the lock and fumbles with the door, to find Dave leaning against the small kitchen counter. His arms are crossed over his chest, there’s a cup of coffee in his hand, and even though he’s clearly calmer than Aaron, there’s no hiding the tension in his face. “We’ve got Garcia on the phone. She has some intel you might want to hear. Plus, they’re looking for you.” He tips his head in the direction of the rest of the team. Aaron can see them bent over files and a mess of documents, pouring over the case and what little information they have. “They need their leader. Get back up there and lead.” 

“Dave, if something happens -” 

“Aaron we both know you can’t let yourself go there. I know this is personal, for you even more so. We will get them out. But you need a clear head.” 

“I’m the one that signed off on this.” 

“What would Emily tell you to do?” The steely determination in Dave’s eyes and weight in his voice is enough impetus he needs to rejoin the rest of the team, as if nothing ever happened at all. 

**…**

This goes deeper than they even imagined, Emily realizes as Benjamin Cyrus’s fifteen year old wife sits before her, hands folded piously. The girl pushes back on every single one of her gentle, yet probing questions, unyielding and strangely calm. Her devotion to him is eerie, and what makes it even worse is her own mother is complicit in all of it. 

Maybe Aaron was right. Maybe they’re in way too far over their heads, because  _ none _ of this was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be an interview, a quick assessment. In and out. But the news of a raid takes them all by surprise, the gunfire a little too close for her own comfort even though they’re underground. Something isn’t adding up here, and she’s all but defenseless.

“You can’t shoot it out with the cops. You have children here,” Emily argues with a mix of fear and disgust as the gunfire continues constantly for at least thirty minutes. She can tell Reid is nervous, too, as now they’re in a precarious position. They’re both very much aware of the fact that their survival is dependent on no one finding out their true identities as FBI agents. It’s only a matter of time, and they have to think quickly.

The only comforting thought is that by now, the FBI is most likely aware of this mess, meaning the BAU is on their way. 

**…**

Colorado is hot and dry, and the trip to La Plata County from the airport is seemingly endless. The situation at the compound is growing more and more complex by the minute, based on reports they’re getting. By the time they arrive, decisions have to be made, including one he knows won’t go over well with Dave.

“I’m making you the lead negotiator. Why go to the students when I have the teacher?” Aaron knows he’s putting him in a tough spot, given his connections to the case. It could easily backfire on them all.

“The teacher is emotionally involved. So is the Agent in Command.” Dave says matter of factly, clearly not happy about the demand being placed on him. Aaron isn’t at all surprised.

“I know I am. This is a unique situation. We have two agents who could affect the outcome on the inside.” He doesn’t have to mention any of the  _ other _ aspects that complicate this  _ unique  _ situation. No - Dave is already  _ very _ aware of that. 

But clearly, he has some reservations. “This is bad, Aaron. We need an unbiased party. Put someone else in charge. Half these people were at Waco. They know what they’re doing.” Dave attempts to reason with no luck.

“I know how bad this is. That’s why I want you doing the talking.” What he won’t admit is that he doesn’t trust anyone else to do the job, but he doesn’t have to.

Dave reluctantly agrees, only to watch with his own two eyes as Aaron all but tears the head off of the Colorado Attorney General a few short moments later.

“I demand to know why I wasn’t told why the FBI was sending undercover agents to the Septarian Ranch,” the man drawls, clearly annoyed at the fact he’s even there in the first place. Aaron makes no secret of his intentions, lashing out without a trace of amicability, or even a half-assed attempt to show him exactly what he thinks of him.

“You can’t talk to me like that.” 

“Get off my crime scene,” he practically spits before stalking away. There’s work to be done. 

Dave is less than thrilled with his surprising outburst. “What are you doing?” He asks incredulously. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve questioned your judgment, Aaron, and I don’t want to start now, but what the  _ hell _ was that?” 

“Remind me to put in a call to the US Attorney General when all of this is over,” Aaron mutters. “I have a few words for him.” 

“ _ That _ ’s the kind of thing we  _ don’t _ need,” Dave hisses. “I know you’re in hell right now, Aaron. I am too. We all are.” He then lowers his voice. “But you need to keep a clear head. You owe her that much.” 

If only it were that simple. 

**…**

It’s labeled as a  _ minimal loss scenario.  _ He knows it well. They all do - the BAU wrote fucking handbook, for Christ’s sake. But they need time to actually formulate a plan, build trust with Cyrus. It’s Dave’s first test as lead negotiator, one he passes with flying colors as he assures him the state police are gone, appeasing and placating with ease.

“So let’s just stop this before things get worse,” he says pleasantly on the phone, as if he were ordering a pizza or making small talk instead of negotiating hostage release as Aaron paces the floor. “Now, the three child services workers -” 

“One of them is dead. It wasn’t us.” The complete lack of empathy or emotion in Cyrus’s voice is chilling **,** his calculated responses even moreso. Aaron bites his lip, frozen in place, and they all breathe an audible sigh of relief moments later when he hears it’s not Emily. That bides them at least a little bit more time. 

Even so, it’s a long night, one of the longest Aaron can remember. Dave hasn’t left his side at all, especially after the showdown with the State Attorney General. He’s been the epitome of calm since arriving in Colorado, and for that, he’s grateful. Aaron makes a mental note to thank him later, when all of this is done. 

**…**

Just when they think things can’t get any worse, the news break later that day seals the deal. 

_ “Anonymous sources inside the state attorney general’s office have told us there is an undercover FBI agent currently being held inside the Septarian Sect Ranch. There’s still no word as to why an undercover FBI agent was sent in alone.” _ Flanked by JJ and Morgan, he watches the news with despair, knowing what will most likely happen if Cyrus has access to the same thing.

_ And in that moment, he realizes, this may all be his fault for sending them in the first place.  _

**_..._ **

“Which one of you is the FBI Agent?” Cyrus’s voice is menacingly soft and commanding, yet he’s strangely calm. There’s a gun in his hand, one of his lackeys at his side as his gaze shifts between them both. It’s less of a question, more like a demand, and as if he wants to prove a point, he flicks the safety on the gun, pointing it at Reid.

_ There’s no way around this _ **,** Emily thinks, for the first time questioning if they actually will get out of here unscathed. Experience tells her this can go one of two ways, neither of which are good, and the longer they wait will only make it seem like they have something to hide. She makes her choice within seconds and without hesitation, because Reid is already denying it, and that’s only going to anger Cyrus more. “Me. It’s me.” 

Cyrus stares at her, then glances at Reid, before his lip curls in a vicious sneer. And in that moment, she knows it’s about to get worse. 

_ And then it goes to hell.  _

It takes him all of thirty painful seconds to drag her across the floor by the arms with a strength she didn’t see him possessing. Then it’s up a flight of stairs and into a room of concrete walls that smells of mold and must, the walls lined with shelves from floor to ceiling. It’s disorienting, she can’t remember how they got there, but it’s the last of her concerns when the door slams shut behind them.

“I told you not to put me in this position.” Cyrus’s fist makes contact with her face, a sickening crunch of bone against bone. The force crumples her to the floor as his knee connects to her face, her nose starting to bleed instantly. It sends pins and needles through her head, a flash of light behind her eyes, and everything is fuzzy as she nearly hits her head on the concrete.

Outside, they can hear everything. 

Taking the headset off is worse than keeping it on. Listening to it all is unfathomable, but the thought of  _ not _ knowing what’s happening on the inside is unbearable. So Aaron puts it back on, only to hear Emily cry out in pain when Cyrus kicks her in the ribs **.**

“We gotta go in there.” He’s blinded by his own emotion and pure rage at what he hears through the headset, but he’s quickly met with opposition from his agents vehemently shaking their heads, opposed to the idea.

“We’d be risking the lives of everyone in there,” Dave says evenly, keeping his eyes locked on Aaron. “We can’t do that. Not yet.” 

“Get up,” Cyrus hisses dangerously, pulling her to her feet only to send her flying into a mirror on the wall that shatters to the ground on impact. One of the shards slices into her face, a searing burn across her cheek, followed by the warm drip of blood down her face, and another shove into the opposite wall. She’s done this long enough to know they have ears somewhere; somehow they’re probably listening, and probably already on their way in. Even through the painful haze radiating in her head, she knows  _ that _ ’s a bad idea.

“I can take it,” she breathes, as if daring Cyrus to hit her again, and he does, a solid crack across the face that nearly splits her lip open. “I can take it.” 

“Wait. Listen to what she’s saying.” Dave is wearing a strained expression clutching his own headphones, holding up his hand. “She’s antagonizing him. 

“She’s talking to us. She’s telling us not to come in,” Aaron says with chagrin, his stomach in knots, even though he’s far from surprised. There’s one more thud followed by a whimper as Cyrus shoves her into the ground once again with disgust. Then, it seems to stop, a temporary reprieve along with the sound of another muffled voice. “Tie her up,” is what he hears and _that_ ’s his breaking point. He tears the headset off and stalks away, desperately in need of some air. 

Dave isn’t far behind, as he expected. “What are you doing?” 

“Did you hear him, Dave,” he hisses once they’re out of earshot of the others. “He beat her while quoting bible verses. What kind of sick fucking -” 

“He’s an unhinged religious fanatic. What do you expect?” Dave’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, clearly just as disturbed by it all. “You  _ have _ to keep it together.”

“I’ll kill him,” Aaron spits. “If he hurts her again I’ll rip him apart.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, scrubs his hand over his face. “If anything happens -” 

Dave shakes his head. “Aaron, Emily is one of the best agents we’ve ever worked with. You and I both know that. She knows what she’s doing. Now get back in there. We’ve got work to do. She can handle it for a little longer.” 

The only problem is, he’s not sure if he can do the same. 

…

Things change in a matter of hours, taking yet another turn for the worse. 

“Time has run out. We’ve got to go in.” There’s a sense of urgency in Dave’s voice that he hasn’t heard since they arrived, as their worst fears are confirmed, thanks to some quick thinking from Reid. Cyrus’s final plan is to blow the building with the remaining followers still inside. It's the worst case scenario at this point. 

They work out the logistics down to the last second. It’s  _ all  _ laid out - the point of entry, the rescue plan, the schematics of the compound,  _ and _ the most important detail, 3 AM. It  _ all _ hinges on 3 AM. Not only that, but they work through possible scenarios of things that could go wrong. Of course, there’s always a very real possibility it could in mere seconds. It’s a thought something no one wants to entertain, but a very necessary part of their job. The thought of it makes him sick, and he’s uncharacteristically quiet during that part of the conversation. 

Aaron has only one objective - to get Emily and Reid out of there. Once the room is silent, all preparations are made, and all he can do is wait **,** he takes a few moments alone to think. He’s staring into the dark as Dave joins him. “I know I can’t go in there.” He sounds like hell, looks like it too, and he checks his watch once more.  _ 2:44 AM.  _ Time is almost moving backwards at this point. 

“I’m going,” Dave says. It’s meant to reassure, but there’s no way to hide the uncertainty in his voice. 

“If something happens to her, or Reid, … I don’t know. I’ve already lost her once, Dave. I don’t know if I could live with myself if I lost her again.” 

There’s a reassuring hand on his shoulder, along with a heavy sigh of agreement. “You’re not alone.” 

...

Just before three, Morgan gives the go ahead. Right before he leaves with Dave on his heels, he gives Aaron a quick, reassuring nod. “We’ll get them out, Hotch.” He’s confident and completely sure of himself, his face determined as they head out in a well-coordinated, efficient rush.

It happens quickly after that.

The noise from the explosion is deafening, yet Aaron barely notices the ringing in his own ears as the dozens of agents, uniformed cops, and bomb squad members mobilize toward the rapidly burning building. They’re worried about a secondary explosion, the possibility of more detonators, and whatever else they might encounter, frantically calling for haz-mat and backup **.**

He waits with some of the officers a safe distance away, ready and waiting to usher the survivors to safety, and doesn’t attempt to breathe as the first few scramble out in various states of distress and fear.  Aaron finally spies her in the midst of almost two dozen women and young children, closing his eyes and subtly breathing a sigh of relief. She’s headed right in his direction with Rossi close behind, and when her eyes meet his from ten yards away, there’s an acknowledgement between them both - a reassurance that this nightmare is over.

He keeps his distance because he doesn’t quite trust himself to remain neutral the moment he’s close enough to touch her. Emily is calling for Morgan and Reid, unsteady on her feet, and Aaron watches from behind her as his other two agents  _ finally _ emerge from the burning compound, coughing violently from smoke inhalation. There’s shrieking and yelling, cries as families are reunited and wails from those that aren’t. But Aaron hears none of it, because all he sees is the way her shoulders sag in relief when she hurries toward Reid. 

Rossi claps his shoulder comfortingly when Reid envelopes her into a hug, a moment the two of them so desperately needed, one of closure and strength. “Let’s take this one as a win. They’re safe, Aaron. We got lucky today. Remind yourself of that.” 

Aaron nods, swallowing thickly. Dave is right. It’s a win, even if it doesn’t quite feel like one **.** They have a front row seat when Emily makes eye contact with Jessie’s mother. The woman’s face crumples as she falls into Emily’s arms with an audible sob before stumbling away into the darkness, alone **.** One more casualty of this mess. But even that is the least of his concerns. He can already see the evidence of her encounter with Cyrus - the ugly splotches of bruises across her face, and around her eye, the blood stains on her shirt, and the way she’s favoring her left side as she picks her way across the grass in their direction. His fists clench reflexively, he grits his teeth and closes his eyes. 

“Aaron,” Dave says again, this time more patiently as they get closer. “She’s  _ okay.  _ Take a deep breath. You’re even making me nervous. _ ”  _

It’s a relieved reunion between the five of them amidst the chaos. Emily hugs Morgan again, then Reid once more too, before they amble off in the direction of the ambulances that are lining the property. Morgan has a gash on his forehead that needs stitches, and Reid doesn’t argue when Aaron looks at him expectantly. It’s an unspoken order that he too should be seen by one of the medics. 

Of course, Aaron knows better than to demand the same thing from Emily, and he doesn’t push it. It leaves the three of them standing together, watching the last of the SWAT agents exit the compound with the stragglers. Emily glances back at them, then at Dave and Aaron, a hollow expression on her face. He’s doing his best to avoid staring at her, but now that he can see her more clearly, his stomach churns at her haggard appearance.

Dave steps forward first, wrapping Emily into a careful hug. “It’s good to see you, Em. Really, really good to see you.” 

“You too, Dave” Emily says softly, with a sideways glance at Aaron when she pulls away. “Thank you … both of you.” She makes no attempt to hug Aaron, and he wrings his hands, looking her up and down. “For getting us out of there.” It’s the waver in her voice that frays his last nerve. 

“All in a day’s work,” Dave says, clearly relieved, but very much aware of just how close they came to losing both of them. “Or maybe three.” 

_ Is that how long it’s been? Three days?  _

“I - I need to go find Mrs. Evanson again.” Emily mutters, already looking past them. “Someone needs to talk to her...explain what happened. It should be me. She shouldn’t be alone.” She slowly walks away in search of the grieving woman, leaving Aaron with his hands in his pockets, Dave staring between them both. 

“You know,” he says slowly, “I don’t think anyone is going to blame you for following her.” Dave quips when he sees Aaron’s eyes are still locked on Emily. “It also wouldn’t hurt to let her know you’re glad she’s alright. Emotion isn’t always a bad thing.” There’s a small smile on his face, one of the first he’s cracked in days. It  _ almost _ takes the frown off of Aaron’s face. Almost. 

“I know.” Still, he knows he shouldn’t leave the scene. He should wait until things have been secured and families accounted for, until the ambulances leave and the fire department has the still-burning compound under control.

Dave just shakes his head.  **“** SWAT and the state troopers have this covered. They’ll account for the survivors. I’ll talk to Jessie’s mom and take care of the rest. You go. Get Emily back to the hotel. You’re no good to us here like this, anyway.” 

“Well thanks,” Aaron says sarcastically. “Good to know how you really feel.” 

“Thank me later. Now get going.” 

Aaron gives him a quick, grateful nod before making a quick dash across the grounds.

“Emily.” He calls after her, picking up his pace. He closes the distance between them in a few long strides, calls her name again. “Emily, wait.” A few more steps and he’s close enough that he could touch her if he wanted to, but he resists. She stops when she hears his voice, her back stiff and shoulders tense. “ _ Emily.”  _ He sets his jaw and steels his nerves, because now that they’re alone, the weight of the last few hours is starting to culminate. It’s the first moment alone they’ve had since this nightmare began **.** Emily, please wait.” 

“That girl’s mother deserves an explanation,” Emily says, turning around slowly. “I need to -” 

“Dave will take care of it, Emily. Right now we need to make sure you’re alright.” 

“I’m fine, Aaron.” She keeps her eyes on the ground, her foot nervously tapping against the dirt. Of course, she doesn’t want him to see the damage to her face up close. “How are your ears? I’m sure the … explosion wasn’t -” 

“Emily, stop.” Without thinking twice, he tenderly cups her chin in his hand, lifting her face.  _ That son of a bitch is lucky he’s dead _ , Aaron thinks as he gets an up close view of exactly what she endured in that fucking compound. There are dark bruises ringing around her eyes, her lip cut, her nose and face ridiculously swollen with dried blood crusting above her lip and across her cheek. “What the fuck did he do to you?” Except he doesn’t have to ask, because he already knows.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, Aaron,” she says, a little too calm for his liking. “Really. I just need some ice.” 

“You and I both know it’s a little more than that.” He does a quick inspection of the rest of her as best he can in the dark, carefully smoothing his hands over her shoulders and then to her hips, carefully moving up her waist, which makes her flinch. As he expected. He’d heard exactly what happened, but isn’t quite prepared to see the smattering of bruises that undoubtedly are starting to set underneath her shirt, but he’ll deal with that later. 

“Stop,” she says with a wince, as his hand connects with one of the places on her left side where Cyrus’s boot was especially unforgiving. “Someone’s going to wonder why you’re feeling me up under a tree.” It’s an attempt at a joke, even if she’s not smiling. “Can we please not do this here?” Her eyes shift over his shoulder, looking into the distance.

“No one’s anywhere near us.” Aaron takes a step back, his eyes full of concern, not even remotely amused at her words. He cups her chin again, tucks a piece of stray hair behind her ear. “Did that hurt?” He sounds concerned, looking even more so when she nods. “That’s not a good sign.” 

She nods slowly, already frowning at what’s likely coming next. “I’m not going to the hospital.” 

“Then you have to deal with me instead.”  _ It’s not worth an argument right now, but maybe one for later _ . “And if there’s  _ any _ sign your ribs are broken, I’m taking you in myself.” 

She considers him for a moment before nodding slowly. “Fine.” 

And then, before he can stop himself, he gingerly brings his free arm around her back, closing whatever gap is between them, and draws her in for a hug. What he’s  _ not _ expecting is for Emily to do the same. She rests her head against his chest, sighing with exhaustion, the first moment of peace she’s had in days. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see you, you know.” 

“That makes two of us.” He breathes her in; she smells of smoke and blood and there’s dust in her hair, along with pieces of plaster and bits of rubble from the explosion. Her clothes are dirty, and only now does he realize the collar of her once pristine shirt is completely torn off. But she’s safe.

“Can we go home, please?” She whispers, her head still firmly against his chest. “Or anywhere but here? I just want to get the fuck out of here.” 

He kisses the top of her head, runs his fingers through her hair. “Come on.” 

**…**

Aaron drives to the hotel with an abundance of caution. It barely classifies as a hotel, based on what he’s heard from JJ. She’d retreated much earlier - one of the upsides of being nearly eight months pregnant. For one night, it’ll do. He pretends not to notice her every little whimper of pain whenever he brakes or drives over a bump. She doesn’t say much and neither does he throughout the twenty minute drive that feels more like forty. 

“Have you heard from Reid?” She asks quietly, her eyes on the road. “I - he feels - I need to talk to him.” 

“Reid is fine, Emily. Morgan is with him, and Dave is heading to the hospital soon. He said he’d call with an update once he’s there.” 

“It’s not his fault.” She starts tearing at the peeled skin of her fingers, digging at her ragged nails. “He blames himself for what happened with Cyrus. He needs to know it’s not his fault.” 

“Emily,” Aaron says firmly but gently. “It’s not yours, either.” 

**...**

She says nothing when he holds the hotel room door open, letting her slip past him. She stops, stares at the ceiling with a resigned sigh. 

“What’s wrong?” 

She turns to face him. “I don’t have any clothes. I don’t even know where my bag is.”  _ Or my purse, or my wallet.  _ She hadn’t taken anything with her to the compound in case they were searched on arrival. In hindsight, she’s grateful for that. 

“JJ gave me a few of her extra things. She guessed on some of the sizes but it should work for one night. We’ll send someone to the DCS Headquarters in the morning to get both of your bags before we fly home.” 

Emily nods gratefully. “Thanks.”  _ Of course he would have already thought of that, too. _

“Come sit,” Aaron says. “You need some ice.” Someone had done their best to clean her up with the limited medical supplies scrounged together in the compound. But there’s still some work to be done, and of course, make sure she’s not injured any further. There’s an eerie sense of familiarity from years ago as he tosses his things to the side and she sits on the edge of one of the beds. He pulls a few instant ice packs from his pocket, gives one a shake, and gently rests it on her swollen face.

“Where’d you manage to find those?” 

“I have my ways.” The slightest smile crosses his face. “Here. Hold this on.” He disappears into the bathroom, and soon reappears with a few towels of different sizes and a cup of water. “I have some stuff in my bag, too, if we need it.”

“You come prepared,” she says quietly, and if he’s not mistaken, gratefully. 

“I knew you’d refuse to go with Morgan and Reid.” He recovers the makeshift bag of medical supplies he’d procured right before the raid. “It’s not much but it should do the job.”

He starts cleaning the cuts on the side of her lip and across her face. Both are swollen already, red and angry, and if they were any deeper, he’d consider making her go for stitches. For now, some antiseptic will do, and covers the one on her cheek with one of the bandaids. The bruises are of various sizes, different shades of black and blue that mar her face. He’s relieved because despite their hideous appearance **,** her nose isn’t broken. “We need to keep an eye on your cheekbone,” he says quietly. “It’s pretty bad. And these wounds will get infected if you’re not careful. 

Emily nods, but Aaron isn’t sure she’s even listening. “Emily?” 

“I heard you.” She closes her eyes, lets him continue his careful assessment of her injuries. He’s focused, determined, and clearly doing his best to avoid causing her anymore pain. Still, she can’t help but wince as he gently maneuvers around her cheekbone. “You think it’s broken?” 

“It’s pretty swollen. We’ll keep an eye on it.” It’s meant to reassure, but it just makes her feel worse. She pushes his hand away, turns away from him for a few moments to pull some ragged breaths into her lungs. 

“Do you want to stop?” He asks quietly, taking a few precautionary steps away. “We can take a break.” 

“No. Just get it over with.” 

“Then lay back. I need to check your ribs.” 

She sighs heavily but complies with his request, leaning back into the pillows and pulling up the hem of her shirt. He isn’t fully prepared for what he’s about to see, even if he knows what’s coming. The bruises that nearly cover her entire rib cage and abdomen are even worse than her face. Most are larger than his hand, some a nasty shade of purplish-green, others still fully forming. Emily keeps her eyes on the ceiling as Aaron inspects the damage, feeling for anything misplaced or broken. Despite how careful he is, she can’t help but bite her lip in pain.

“Was this from his knee or his boot?” He’s peering at one of the bigger ones, on her left side, his face twisted with worry. 

“His boot. He kicked me a few times.” She eyes him warily, wondering if she should tell him just how many times it actually was. 

“I’d say six is more than a few.”

She stares at him, mouth slightly opened, her eyes wide with resignation. “You know … you mean you were -” 

“I heard him, Emily.” He doesn’t look at her when he says it. He’s not sure if he could conceal the sheer rage that courses through his face.

“You were listening too.”Emily isn’t completely sure why it takes her by surprise, but it does. Of course he was there with the rest of them. After all, he’s in charge. Knowing he was privy to all of it makes her chest hurt even more than it does. He doesn’t deserve that. She’d hoped he was spared of that - it’s how she got through it in the first place. How wrong she was.

“I heard it all.” He focuses his attention on one of the nastier looking bruises, doing his best not to make it worse as he checks for fractures because she’s clearly already sore. Emily recoils at the throbbing pain it sends through her side, and Aaron stops, clearly concerned. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I’m not trying to hurt you.” 

“I know, Aaron.” She gives him a thin smile, more for his sake than hers. 

“What you did ...it was quick thinking. And brave,” he continues on. “I wanted to go in. Dave said it would risk the entire operation.

“He’s right. It would have.” Emily flinches when his fingers press over yet another tender spot. “That’s why I did it. I knew if you were listening to what was happening, you would have come in. Sure pissed him off though.” 

“Taunting him could have made it worse, you know.” He’ll never forget the sheer anger in Cyrus’s voice as he’d just kicked her harder each time she insisted she could take it _._ _He deserves to burn in hell._

“Who knows what Cyrus he would have done … if you’d come in.” Even though he’s dead, Emily can’t help but cringe at the sound of his voice in her head, the burn of his fist and the sharp pain of his boot colliding with her ribs.  _ It could have been a lot worse, especially now that she knows what he’s truly capable of.  _

_That_ sends an alarm bell off in his mind, raising another issue - one he’s been trying to avoid even considering, even though it’s been nagging in the back of his mind since they left the compound. She’s right. The thought of what _could_ have happened is nauseating. “And what happened after all of this?” 

“He left.” She averts her eyes, picks at the hem of the shabby covers on the bed. 

“Emily.” He stumbles over his words. “He didn’t... did he?” His eyes ask the question he can’t bring himself to say aloud. It’s a damn good thing they’re all dead, because he’d tear them apart with his bare hands if there’s even a chance of  _ that _ .

Emily narrows her eyes, but her face is so swollen and bruised she looks almost cartoonish. “No, Aaron,” she says, resting her hand on his arm, understanding the implication of his words. “It wasn’t like that. I promise.” 

“And you never lost consciousness?” 

“No.” 

He nods, his face visibly relieved even though he’s making every attempt not to show it. With a steady hand he brings the ice back to her face. “Keep this on for a few minutes.” He fixes her shirt and helps her sit up, then settles next to her for a few seconds. “Luckily, nothing seems to be broken, just really badly bruised. You’re going to be sore for a few days, and you’re out of the field for at least two weeks.” 

If she’s annoyed by his demands she doesn’t show it. “I think I can live with that.” 

...

Dave calls shortly after with an update, as promised. They’re all safely back to the hotel in one piece, discharged from the hospital and cleared to fly home the next morning. The news seems to soothe Emily’s visible anxiety, and she breathes a sigh of relief as soon as he’s hung up the phone.

The shower presents an interesting challenge. Her arms are sore from being dragged across the ground and tied behind her back. It makes hair washing an almost impossible task, not to mention it pulls at her sore ribs. Luckily, Aaron handles that, carefully massaging the shampoo into her scalp and rinsing it out. Emily takes care of the rest, rinsing away the dirt and grime from the last few days. Even the cheap hotel soap works wonders at this point. By the time he reaches for one of the threadbare towels on the bar, the bathroom is a thick cloud of steam and fog. 

“One of my shirts might be easier, you know,” Aaron offers as she stares at the shirt from JJ with uncertainty.  _ At least a button down doesn’t require any arms overhead _ . 

She nods her head with an attempt at a half smile, inwardly grateful at the fact he just read her mind. “Okay.” But when she drops the towel, she gets a glimpse of herself in the mirror for the first time. It hides nothing; the harsh light almost emphasizes every single bruise, scrape, and cut, each one an ugly reminder of the toll of the last few days. It’s not what she expected, and what stares back at her takes the air right out of her lungs.

“Emily, what are you -” He stops with one of his shirts in his hands, stock still, when he sees her, wide eyed and staring back at her reflection, her fingers tracing over the discolored and swollen patches of skin. Her mouth falls open, as if what she sees is hideous, repulsive even. “Stop.” Aaron steps between her and the mirror, draping the shirt over her shoulders. “Turn around. You don’t need to see that right now.” 

And she does, but he doesn’t miss the way she shudders as she slips her arms into the sleeves. “It looks  _ awful _ , Aaron.” 

“It’s only temporary,” he says, sounding more reassuring than he feels, because she’s right. He can’t let his eyes linger too long, either. It’s an all too real reminder of just how lucky they got today. “It’ll heal. What matters is that you’re safe.” 

There’s two queen sized beds in the room, and Aaron contemplates asking if he should take the one she’s not currently occupying. She’s hardly looked at him since getting dressed, staring at the wall with the TV remote in her hands. He changes and double checks their flight arrangements for tomorrow then straightens up the room, biding time. 

Of course, she remains silent. 

“I can sleep in the other bed,” he says after at least a half an hour has passed. “If you’d be more comfortable that way.” 

Emily looks up, saying nothing, just stares at him, wearing an expression he can’t read. 

“It might be better if you have more space to yourself.” 

“Aaron,” Emily says quietly, still clutching the TV remote. “I really don’t want to sleep alone.” 

It takes awhile but she finally finds a semi-comfortable sleeping position with Aaron right behind her. Only when she’s safely tucked against him does her resolve start to crack and then shatter, and the tears start to fall. 

**...**

A few weeks after Colorado, Emily wakes up in his bed one morning, the day after they return from Nevada. Her eyes slowly peel open, and it takes a full three minutes for her to realize it’s Saturday, they’re not in another unfamiliar hotel, and for once, there’s nowhere to go. There’s a mug of coffee, a few ibuprofen, and a glass of water on the table next to the bed when she opens her eyes. Beside her, Aaron is already sipping his own coffee, immersed in whatever he’s reading. She stretches, and for the first time in awhile, doesn’t feel the throbbing pains that have plagued her since Colorado. There’s still a definite burn, but not nearly as pronounced as before. 

_ Baby steps _ . 

“Take those,” Aaron says without even looking up from his book. “You’ll be sore later if you don’t.” 

With a roll of her eyes she obliges, knowing it’s probably a good idea to do so.  _ He’s right _ . Most of the pain comes later in the day, annoying as it is. Without the pills now, she’ll be struggling later on. 

“Good morning.” He leans over to kiss her, being careful not to jostle her too much. “Sleep well?” 

“I think so.” She takes a sip of the coffee, noting the traces of hazelnut and cream **.** It’s her favorite kind; the one he’s been keeping at his place since she started staying over a couple of months ago. It’s good, exactly how she likes it done, and does an almost instantaneous job of waking her up. “What about you?” 

Instead of answering, he completely ignores her question and instead goes right into something else. “What are your thoughts on Rossi’s invitation?” 

After Colorado, it was evident they were all in need of some time together without the normal stressors of work, and some extra time with JJ before the baby’s arrival. Of course, Dave immediately offered to host. It’s hard to say no, and she’d been excited about it, until Aaron had suggested they go together. 

Things haven’t changed much between them - he’s just a little extra attentive. They’re still spending a few nights a week in each other’s apartments, the same casual intimacy that comes with the  _ years _ of knowing each other as well as they do, both physically and emotionally. Yet, the discussion of being anything more than the status quo is yet to be had. 

“I told you I wanted to go,” she says cautiously, knowing exactly where this conversation is headed. “I’ve told you more than once, actually” 

“We both know that’s not entirely what I meant.” 

Of course she knows what he really meant with his question. “I don’t think we should show up together. We should still … keep this quiet,” she says. “You know …”

He snaps his book shut, tossing it to the side. “How long are we going to go in circles like this, Emily?” 

“I’m not ready for everyone to know yet.” She brings her knees up, the sheet making a tent around her legs. “We’ve talked about this, Aaron. You know how I feel about things.” There hasn’t really been a good time to figure any of this out, either. After New York, now Colorado - it all seems too overwhelming to even begin to decipher what they could be. 

“You do know that Dave already knows, right?” 

She comes dangerously close to spilling the coffee mug all over the covers. “There’s policies against this, you know. I would be reassigned immediately and you could be demoted. Then what would happen?” 

Against his better judgment, he leans over to brush a piece of stray hair behind her ear, then another. “Relax. Dave is the reason half those policies exist. Plus, he’s got his own issues to contend with.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She narrows her eyes, wondering just how much Aaron has told him. “And how does he already know?” 

“Well, I’m pretty sure he has a thing with Strauss.” Aaron can’t help but smirk at the thought of Dave’s little secret. Even a  _ month _ after he’d seen Strauss leave his office much too late in the evening to be a work-related meeting, he has yet to comprehend just how or why that got started.

Emily’s jaw drops on its own accord, her eyes widen in surprise. “Stop. That’s … no way. Not  _ Dave, _ ” she scoffs, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Seriously?” 

“Pretty sure it’s just rumors,” he says smoothly, kissing her jaw. “But trust me. He’s not telling a soul about us.” 

“I don’t want to become a rumor, Aaron. Especially when it involves you.” 

“What are you so afraid of? That things might just actually work out if you give it a damn chance?”

“I’m not  _ afraid _ ,” she snaps, angrily throwing back the blankets and ignoring the dull ache from her chest at the sudden movement. “But we both know better. We’ve had lots of experience failing at this.” 

“When are you going to let it go? Just what the hell do I have to do to prove this is  _ different _ than eight years ago?” He meets her tone with his own anger, staring her down as she awkwardly scrambles for her clothes in a heap on the floor, making a dash for the bathroom. “Are you ever going to stop living in the past, Emily?”

It’s like a cold slap in the face, one she wasn’t at all expecting. “I think it’s time for me to go,” she says quietly, without even looking at him. He makes no effort to stop her this time, and less than five minutes later, she’s gone, without another word spoken between them. 

Later that night she all but ignores him at Rossi’s, keeping her distance and hardly acknowledging his presence. He pretends like nothing is wrong. 

It comes easier than he anticipated. After all, he’s been doing it for years.

**…**

“Do you think you could find something to do in Las Vegas for the night?” 

Based on Morgan’s reaction to the question, he already knows the answer, and the flight back to Quantico is pushed to the next morning, a few hours later than usual just in case things get a little rowdy. The mood instantly changes as they go back to the hotel to freshen up before meeting for dinner. Even Emily is smiling; he hasn’t seen that since they arrived in Vegas a few days ago.

It’s a total accident they end up sitting next to each other at the restaurant. But he doesn’t mind, because for some reason, whenever she laughs (which is frequently) throughout the course of dinner, her leg brushes up against his. At first, he chalked it up to an accident. But on the fourth time, he starts playing her game, resting his hand on her knee beneath the table. By the end of dessert, he’s sliding his hand up her thigh. She doesn’t even flinch, tossing her hair over her shoulder while continuing on animatedly with Rossi, sharing some story about traveling in Italy  _ years _ ago.

He knows it’s going to happen before they even leave the restaurant. Less than fifteen minutes after arriving at the hotel, she knocks on on his door. 

And of course, he lets her in, pressing her body into the wall once they’re behind closed doors.

But she leaves almost immediately after, since the plan is to meet at 8 and head over to the casinos. Aaron’s not the biggest fan of Vegas, if he’s being honest. It’s over stimulating and exhausting and he’s never really seen the appeal of it all. But the team is ready to let loose for a few hours. Even a heavily pregnant JJ seems excited to hit the slot machines, and all he can do is agree when Dave suggests a bar instead of gambling. It’s as if he’s already sensed something is amiss, because there’s a drink waiting for him when he finally arrives at the bar. 

Aaron rattles off a quick excuse, something about a long phone call with Haley and Jack as he settles at the hightop table next to Dave. He wills himself to push everything out of his mind. They’re in Vegas after all; he may as well try to enjoy the change of scenery.

“How are things going with Emily?” Dave asks almost an hour later, leaning in just a little closer over the music. They’re on their second ridiculously overpriced drink and are working on a cigar. Dave just laughs and reaches into his wallet to open a tab when the waitress asks if they want another one. “We’ll take two each.” 

Aaron rolls his eyes but willingly takes the drinks, trying to forget about the headache that’s likely going to plague him tomorrow. “It’s … going.” 

“Be a little more convincing, Aaron.” Dave glances him up and down suspiciously. “Going. What does that even mean these days?” 

“You tell me, Dave. You’re the expert on relationships.” 

_ That _ gets a laugh from him. “Expert? Aaron, in case you haven’t been keeping track, I’m three times divorced. That’s twice more than you, if I’m doing the math correctly. I certainly wouldn’t call myself an expert.” 

“Well, that makes two of us.” The drink in front of him is strong, exactly what he needs. 

Emily and Morgan stumble past the bar, clearly a few drinks deep, a raucous laughter erupting from them both. She looks beautiful and so carefree, clearly in her element. They don’t even notice Aaron and Dave, as they head in the direction of Craps tables, and his eyes linger on her for a few moments as they disappear around a corner. 

“Looks like they lost JJ,” Aaron says dryly.

“More like JJ lost them.” Dave eyes them both with an amused grin. “Can’t say I blame her. I’d probably do the same.” 

“At least they’re enjoying ourselves.” Aaron finishes the last of his second drink and immediately reaches for his third. 

Dave feigns offense. “Hey, now, I’m not  _ that _ bad, am I? My three ex wives didn’t seem to think so.” He shakes his head at Aaron’s silence before prodding, “does this have anything to do with whatever was going on at my house the other week? Or why you spent the night practically moping around my house?” 

“Something like that,” he mutters. “And for the record, I wasn’t moping, Dave.” 

“Oh, but you were. They could have written a country song about you, Aaron. Listen. I know we’ve talked about this, but maybe it’s time the two of you have a real conversation about all of this. Instead of just dancing around the issue like you’ve been doing for too long.” 

“Are you this good at taking your own advice, Dave?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“How long are you going to keep Erin Strauss a secret?” He quirks an eyebrow, a smile curling on his lips. 

_ That _ takes Rossi by surprise shortly followed by a booming laugh as he lifts his glass in a cheers. “Touché, Aaron. Touché.” 

...

_ Much _ later that night, Emily shows up at his door, wobbling just a little on her heels with her bag slung over her shoulder, clearly exhausted as the effects of the alcohol start to set in. Aaron lets her through, handing her a bottle of water as she flops onto her back on his bed, her eyes already starting to close. 

“I think I’m a little too old for Vegas. Plus, Atlantic City is closer, anyway.” Emily manages to kick one shoe off, the other one dangling on her foot. “What do you think?” She slurs her words just enough to prove that while she isn’t anywhere close to trashed, she’s not fully sober, either. More like hovering in the limbo of honesty and discretion, a dangerous place to be sometimes. “Atlantic City next time, for sure.” 

“I think you need to drink some water,” he says, taking the other shoe off and putting them off to the side of the room. “And go to bed.” 

“I had a feeling you’d say that.” She rolls her eyes but twists the cap off the bottle, downing half of it in one less than graceful gulp and spilling some of it on herself in the process. “Why do you always … you’re always there for me, Aaron.” She’s still flat on her back with the water bottle in her hand, but watching him through narrow eyes, sighing deeply. She sounds almost content.

“You know why, Emily.” He’s already digging through his bag for an extra set of clothes for her to sleep in, because her current attire looks anything but comfortable. “I’ve been telling you for months.” 

“I know. You love me.” She says it lightly, her eyes closed, but the way she says it makes it sound like she actually believes him this time. Maybe she does.

“I always have. You know that.” 

“Even when I push you away? When I piss you off?”

“Yes, even when you push me away or piss me off.” He sits next to her on the bed, rests his hand on her stomach as he leans down to kiss her. “I could never not love you, you know.” 

“Is that what Dave told you to say? While the two of you were bonding?” She giggles to herself as the alcohol haze lingers in her mind, remembering how ridiculous the two of them had looked with their cigars in the middle of the casino. “I saw you talking when I was with Morgan.” As if she has a second wind, she sits up slowly, shaking the hair from her face. 

“No, Emily. It’s the truth.” He’s prepared for pushback, knowing how bold she can be with a little liquid courage in her veins. But that’s not what happens as she sighs in frustration, not with him but with herself, and if he’s not mistaken, there’s the smallest tear forming in the corner of her eye, then another. “Hey,” he says quietly, pulling her into his arms. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about this tonight.” 

She relaxes against him with a yawn. “What’s wrong with me, Aaron? Why can’t I just say it back?” 

He doesn’t say anything, just draws her closer, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “Nothing is wrong with you, Emily. I promise.” 

And as she fully sobers in the middle of a Vegas hotel room tucked against his side, it becomes something slightly more than what it was when she showed up at the door a few hours ago.

**...**

Only after they land in Atlanta about two months later does Emily realize they haven’t been here since Superbowl weekend almost two years ago. She says a silent prayer that Reid hasn’t made the connection, either. But he’s completely engrossed in the case - they all are - and it’s one less thing to worry about. 

Going undercover is the last thing she expected when they arrived in Atlanta a few days prior, but she agrees to it, and suggests taking Jordan along with her. She’s not stupid. Emily can tell there’s tension between her and Aaron, and makes it her personal mission to give the girl every chance she deserves. After all, she knows how hard he is to please.

And of course, it’s a success, but she knew it would be. Viper might be a narcissistic misogynist, but he’s a man, and a slimy one at that. Play him right, he’ll give exactly what they want. Even Aaron is impressed when Emily calls him on the way out, having gotten exactly what they needed.

There isn’t enough time to change once they’re back at the Atlanta Police Station, but one of the officers finds a few spare department-issued jackets laying around somewhere. Both Emily and Jordan smile gratefully, because even though it’s warm outside, it’s  _ freezing _ inside. The jacket is actually longer than the dress but she still wears it, not even caring that half the Atlanta PD is gawking at both of them as they debrief.

At the hotel, she bids Jordan goodnight in the lobby as everyone goes their separate ways, eager to be done for the day. She closes her eyes when she sees Aaron slip into the elevator at the last second, just a little too close to be professional. 

“Leave the dress on, and don’t even think about taking off those shoes.” His voice is low; only she can hear as he brushes past her when the doors open on their floor. He doesn’t have to explain - she knows he’s been undoubtedly staring at her  _ all _ night. So she nods, gives him a head start towards his room, and once she’s in hers, she waits. 

Like clockwork, he shows up at exactly 12:30 AM. She’s been expecting him, but it still sends a shiver of anticipation down her back when she hears the three firm knocks against the door. He’s  _ still  _ wearing his suit and tie. “I’m going to take you  _ apart _ ,” is what he says when she opens it, and she bites her lip in anticipation, because he looks so damn serious. “Until you scream.” His jaw flexes, his eyes darken, and what happens next surprises  _ both _ of them.

“Me first.” Emily grabs his tie with one hand, yanking him into the room and the door closes behind him. She uses almost all of her weight to push him up against the wall, dropping to her knees and going for his belt buckle and zipper. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Aaron’s hands are in her hair instantly, dragging running through what’s left of the wavy curls, more forcefully than he intended but she doesn’t even seem to notice as she brings him into her mouth. Instead, she moans, sending vibrations through him that make his knees weak, his hands tightening around the back of her head when he hits the back of her throat. 

This isn’t at all what he had in mind when he’d left his hotel room a short time ago, but he’s certainly not complaining. 

Emily works him over quickly, using her mouth and hand in tandem in the way she knows will do the trick. When his knees start to bend, she relaxes her throat only to take him all the way in again, clearly not about to stop anytime soon. She’s clearly enjoying herself, based on how fervently she continues.

“Em,” he grunts, tapping her shoulder in warning. “I’m not going to -.” He pushes on her shoulders, scrambling for purchase to get the upper hand. He’d much rather take her to bed, anyway, and if she doesn’t stop, it’ll all be over too soon. 

Emily smiles up at him and flutters her eyelashes, then brings him out of her mouth gracefully. Her lips are red and swollen, and he swats her hands away and gets a grip under her arms, lifting her to her feet, with a quick kiss to her nose. “Bed, now.” 

They stumble the few steps from the door over to the bed, and Aaron pushes her onto the mattress, on her back, taking a few moments to just  _ stare _ at her in the dress and heels, the heavy makeup barely even smudged except for the lipstick. 

“What are you waiting for?” Emily stretches her arms over her head, lifts her hips teasingly. “Are you just all talk tonight, Aaron? I haven’t forgotten what you said, you know.” 

“And what was that?” He loosens the tie around his neck, and makes a show of stuffing it in his pocket.  _ Maybe he’ll use it on her later _ , he thinks, lowering down and spreading out over her, settling between her legs.

“You said you were going to take me apart,” she whispers in his ear, bringing her leg up around his waist, the sharp stiletto heel digging in his back a perfect reminder of his earlier promise. “Did you mean that?” 

“Patience, sweetheart.” He winks, leaning down to kiss her as his hand moves up her thigh, and her eyes flutter closed when his fingers inch even further. “I’m just getting started.” 

...

“I want to take you out to dinner,” Aaron says over an hour later, after he’s loosened the tie from the headboard, freed her hands, and they’re resting together, both heads sharing a pillow, legs twisted beneath the sheets. The TV is on; neither of them are paying much attention. Instead, he’s tracing lazy patterns on her arm, dropping a few wayward kisses here and there on her wrists, which are already red and sore.

“What about room service? According to Jordan, this hotel has great room service.” Emily chirps, leaning over him to pluck the menu from his nightstand. 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” He frowns. “I meant at a restaurant. With actual food. Not something that comes out of a takeout box.” 

“We had dinner the other night when we got to Atlanta,” Emily muses, and while she’s not saying no, she isn’t exactly agreeing to the offer, either. 

“Team dinners don’t count, Emily.” He feels her tense beside him now that she’s put on the spot, and he pulls the menu from her hands, tossing it off the bed and wrapping an arm around her. “Just one,” he says patiently. “If it’s that terrible, you never have to do it again.” 

It’s meant to be a joke, and she takes it as one, giving him a playful slap on the arm before quietly adding, “I’ll have dinner with you, Aaron. All you had to do was ask.”

**…**

One dinner turns into three, and three quickly becomes five. In fact, there’s dinners after Atlanta, before and after, Phoenix and two before Modesto.  _ Those _ end as they both expect - in her bed or his. It’s where they find themselves the next morning, and sometimes the early afternoon, too. Those are the days he likes best.

It’s as if they’re doing all of this backwards; the first logical step is one of their last as they slowly figure out just what they’re doing here. Then again, their relationship has always been somewhat unconventional at best, even from the start. He reminds himself it’s just dinner - the simple act of sharing a meal together, but it’s also so much more than that. It’s a level of normalcy they haven’t had in years, or maybe ever at all. It’s the closest thing to something  _ real _ instead of whatever it is they’re doing behind closed doors in cities all over the country. And each time he picks her up for Italian or Thai or some overindulgent Tapas plates, always with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, he watches the blush rise in her cheeks and her smile widens a little each time she opens the door.

Sarasota gets to her, just like he knew it would. She’d been the one to accompany William Harris’ daughter to the hospital after he was arrested. Even after they’re home from Florida he can tell she’s still thinking about it. So he orders a copious amount of Mexican takeout and shows up at her door with the bag under his arm and an apologetic smile on his face.

“You really didn’t have to do this,” she argues as he steps right past her, moving easily through her kitchen, knowing right where to find the plates. “I told you I was going to watch a movie and go to bed.”

“I know,” he says smoothly, setting the bag down and assembling them each a full plate. “But maybe I just wanted to watch a movie with you.” 

The small, yet grateful, smile on her face tells him he made the right choice.

And after Alabama,  _ another _ case that gets to her just a little more than usual, he reminds her of her worth. She’s the reason they even get a break in the all too puzzling case - an intricate web of families and traditions, albeit grisly ones. When they face off in an impressive yet effortless showdown of good cop, bad cop, Dave just rolls his eyes, chuckling to himself when he emerges from the interrogation room. “You know,” he says discreetly, “you’re not going to be able to hide it much longer.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Dave,” Aaron says calmly as he shuts the door, about to tell the Madison police department to draw up the murder charges. 

But it’s the farthest thing from the truth. He knows it, too. 

“You did good today,” he says later that night in a hotel room in Alabama. His or hers, it doesn’t matter - that line blurred a long time ago. She accepts the compliment with a satisfied sigh, and for once, doesn’t brush him off. And after they’ve thoroughly exhausted themselves, he’s reminded of just how intelligent she really is, and he tells her that even though she blushes an endearing shade of pink. He’s always known, but sometimes it smacks him right in the face as she explains Romanian terms of endearment and their origins with an overwhelming amount of patience. 

In the series of subtle shifts they keep making, small steps in the right direction, these are no different, but perhaps the most meaningful of all. 

**…**

Dallas gives a new perspective. It’s a world he’s unfamiliar with, but for her, it brings back a slew of memories she’d rather not relive. The lying, the deception, and not to mention the list of political animals that represent the world she left behind and never once looked back. It’s a reminder of men she’s long lost track of but never truly forgotten, and their carefully curated existence that could unravel at any second. The fact that some of these people went their entire lives with secrets, some of them taken to the grave, haunts her. Just more secrets buried in years of lies. 

Dinner consists of the box of chocolate covered pretzels in her lap. They sit on the sofa in her hotel room in downtown Dallas, wrapped in the robes that hung on the back of the bathroom door. _A definite perk,_ she’d thought with a wry grin when she’d discovered them.  Their feet are propped up on the coffee table and there’s a bottle of extra dry red wine shared between them. She rests her head on his shoulder, ignoring the subtle pull in her chest when she thinks of her  _ own _ secrets. The ones they saw today pale in comparison to the ones she keeps in the hidden parts of her heart, tucked in a box where they’ll stay forever. 

“You never know what goes on behind closed doors.” Aaron is quiet tonight. He’s thinking about Megan, and the ultimate price she paid for her own father’s years of indiscretions. “You know what she told me? Right before she died?” 

She pops one of the pretzels in her mouth, her head tilted toward the side in curiosity. 

“I was the first man who never let her down.” The words hang heavy in his mind, because while he may have been that person for Megan, he certainly can’t say the same thing about Emily. 

She says nothing, only nods thoughtfully, her own mind full of things she’d rather not remember. “Think of all the secrets these people had. All the lies they told.” 

“And how far they were willing to go to keep them.” 

Emily is quiet for a few minutes, toying with the cuffs of her sleeves. “I don’t want to keep this a secret anymore, Aaron.” 

He blinks, as if he didn’t hear her correctly, searching her face curiously. “Are you saying we should tell the team? About this? Us?”

“I think … if they were to find out somehow ... I wouldn't deny it.” She brings her hand up his chest, feeling the beat of his heart underneath her palm. “Maybe it’s about time we told the truth.” 

**...**

Something about the Reaper makes Emily uneasy. 

It’s a feeling she’s never had before on a case, and she’s off her game this time around. Maybe it’s Aaron’s quiet intensity throughout their time in Boston - clearly his personal demons surrounding this case run deep. There’s a history here she’s not even aware of, which makes her feel like she should give him space, for a reason she can’t quite explain. The guilt he carries is evident after the murders on the bus and he all but retreats into himself, angry for not figuring all of this out sooner. Emily is grateful for Rossi, who has all the right words she can’t seem to find, even after the plane leaves Boston behind.

It’s JJ who is running towards them, a grim expression on her face when she gives the news of the prison escape, along with all the sickening details. It leaves a chill down her spine, because she knows it’s not the last time they’ll hear the name George Foyet. 

**…**

“I want you to meet Jack,” Aaron says the night they get back from Cherry Hill. He’s driving them back to her apartment, where he’ll undoubtedly spend the night. She’s still taking the case hard, haunted by the image of the dead little boy’s parents standing in front of their older son. The son who murdered his brother, who was taken away kicking and screaming. And less than forty eight hours after their arrival, another family is torn apart by the time they depart. 

“What?” Her head snaps to the side, eyes meeting his questioningly. This is unexpected, and quite frankly, not the best timing, given what they’ve just seen.

“Jack. I want you to meet him.” 

It’s the way he says it, with such certainty, that it stops her midthought. “Really?” 

“Don’t sound so excited.” Aaron glances over at her, then flicks his eyes toward the road again while palming the wheel with his free hand. “But I thought you might want to come over … for dinner one night this week? When I have him?” 

“How do you plan on explaining that to Haley? Pretty sure she’ll have a few issues with that.” Emily rests her head on her hand. “Does she even know about … us?” 

“That’s my problem, not yours.” He takes her hand over the center console - her fingers are cold as ice. “And yes. She does.” He’d told her a few weeks ago, officially. She hadn’t said much, just a slight scoff and a roll of her eyes, clearly not surprised by the news.

Emily stares at her knees, trying to gather her thoughts. She has many, even if she’s not sure just how to put them into words. She’s been with him in some regard for almost a year, been at the BAU for more than two, and still has never met Jack. She’s often wondered about him, piecing together bits and pieces from pictures, but it’s always been a boundary she was unwilling to cross. “You think it’s a good idea?” 

“I’ve been thinking about it for awhile,” he admits, taking the exit to her apartment. “And yes. Does Wednesday sound good? Dinner at my place? You might have to settle for dinosaur chicken nuggets, just a warning.” He looks hopeful, and it makes her heart skip a beat. 

“Wednesday sounds great,” she says with a smile that reaches her eyes, one of her first in days. “And dinosaur chicken nuggets sound great.” 

...

Canada is something they’ll spend a very long time trying to forget. 

It’d been hell from the beginning, and he’d only seen her for short moments at a time in the last 48 hours since arriving at Mason and Lucas Turner’s farm. It’s an almost intentional distance they keep, for they both know if given the chance to be vulnerable, even for a few moments, it might very well break both of them. 

None of them sleep, let alone eat, and it’s bad enough that when it’s time to go, they hardly speak at all in the cars on the way to the airstrip. It’s painfully obvious in all of their eyes on the flight back as they try to process just what they’ve seen, and where they go from here. Aaron is working on giving them a few days off, but Strauss isn’t answering her  _ damn _ phone, and by the time the plane lands, no one even has the energy to make pleasantries.

“I need to ...I just need to go home,” he tells her when the rest of them are halfway across the parking lot. His eyes are dark, distracted, and disturbed. “I need to be alone.” 

“It’s okay.” Emily touches his arm, keeps her distance. “You don’t have to explain.” There’s a bad feeling she has deep down, one she can’t explain. Somewhere in her exhausted mind, there’s a tiny voice telling her she should just make him come to her place. But she doesn’t, because his despondency is chilling. Of all the years she’s known him, he’s never looked quite as broken as this. “Call me in the morning.” 

…

Had he not been so completely drained and gutted going into his apartment, he would have known something was just slightly amiss. But as he drinks the whiskey with a grip on the glass that’s just a little too tight, the rasping voice behind him is all too familiar. 

Foyet. 

_ “You should have made a deal.”  _

Aaron fights him with all of his strength but even that isn’t enough as he’s taken to the ground. He can’t help but wonder if this is how Emily will find him in the morning when he doesn’t call her like he promised he would. With each stab of the knife, cutting through muscle and tissue with an agonizing precision that Foyet seems to take more and more delight in, he can feel the blood seep into the carpet beneath his crumpled body. The pain is all too much by now, his eyes starting to close because even breathing is starting to become a momentous effort. 

And before he loses consciousness, the only thing he can see in the jumbled, hazy cloud of delirium in his mind is her face, the first time he laid eyes on her in the Ambassador’s house almost a lifetime ago. 

This can't be the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3 Stay tuned for chapter 41 coming soon!


	41. Forty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a heaviness to him there wasn’t before, and she wonders if they’ll ever have the chance they truly deserve. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Here we are with chapter 41. As a warning, this one covers the events of S5 including 100 (and a major character death) along with some triggering things towards the end. Nothing that hasn’t been covered before, but mentioning as a warning. Thank you for your sweet words on chapter 40. I hope you liked it. To slutforprentiss on TT, I could still hug you (from a distance, of course), because finding your video on Wednesday made my entire week. I think we are looking at about 4ish more chapters after this one if all goes as planned, so I hope you stick around to the end. I’m sorry it took me so long to post this one, and I hope I didn’t disappoint you with the wait. Let me know what you think - I love hearing from you all, and am so very grateful to have such wonderful readers like you! 
> 
> Finally, another special thank you to AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell for the ongoing pep talk and another week of making sense of this in its less refined, incoherent stages. I am so thankful for you! : ) 

**Chapter 41: Angel Down**

_Doesn't everyone belong_

_In the arms of the sacred?_

_Why do we pretend we're wrong?_

_Has our young courage faded?_

_Why is Aaron awake so damn early?_

Emily groans when she hears her phone ring less than four hours after getting back from Canada. In fact, it wakes her from a restless sleep, as if she barely even closed her eyes at all. A brief glance at her watch, which is still on her wrist, tells her she’s clocked less than three hours of sleep on the couch. She’d dozed off there with a half-full bottle of vodka on the coffee table, a blanket twisted around her legs and the television still on. Running a hand through her matted hair she reaches for the phone, squinting at the tiny screen. 

Except it’s not Aaron’s name that pops up like she anticipated. It’s JJ, from her work number, which can only mean one thing, and it’s never a good sign this early. With a frown, she accepts the call, with a sinking feeling about just _what_ it might entail. “What is it, JJ?” 

“We’re getting called in,” says the tired voice on the other end, and Emily can hear the unmistakable shriek of a wailing baby in the background. Wincing, she drags herself off the couch in search of some water, stretching her stiff limbs. _The couch was not a good idea after hardly sleeping at all the last few nights_ . “Shots were fired in an apartment building in McLean. **”**

 _That doesn’t sound like a BAU case_ **_._ **“I thought Hotch said we’d get the day off,” Emily yawns, realizing she’s still wearing the same clothes from the day before - the ones she’d changed into for the flight home from Canada. A shower is a must at this point, and some food too, based on how loudly her stomach is growling. “They can’t find anyone else?” 

“Yeah that’s not happening. I don’t think he ever got a hold of Strauss.” JJ sighs as the noises in the background get louder. Through the phone, Emily hears Will’s voice now, too. He sounds just as exhausted as JJ does, and even more frustrated. _Can’t imagine why._ “But the police said it’s urgent. They need us.” 

“When?” Emily kicks her bag out of the way and sidesteps the shoes she’d abandoned in the doorway on her way in. “What’s going on?” 

“I don’t have a ton of details, but they need us as soon as possible. I still need to call Morgan and Hotch. Rossi is already on his way there now. I’ll send you the address.” 

She hangs up, and stares at the phone in her hands. There aren’t any missed calls or messages, she notices, scrolling through her call log. _He’s probably still sleeping_ , Emily thinks. _Anyone in their right mind would be after how late they’d gotten home the night before_. Yet, the unsettled feeling from last night comes creeping back, planting itself firmly in the back of her mind. 

_Something isn’t right. She just doesn’t know what._

…

It doesn’t quite make sense why they’re there in the first place. Morgan expresses his displeasure more than once, the only one who is willing to say what’s going through all of their minds. They’re all in various states of exhaustion - Reid’s clothes are rumpled and his hair a mess, Derek’s eyes are red. Dave is moving a little slower than normal, and JJ is clearly running on fumes at this point. Aaron should be here by now. _Traffic isn’t even that bad_ , she thinks, staring down the street, as if he’ll appear out of thin air. It’s getting harder to conceal her unease. As they profile their new case, making sense of the dead body on the ground, her mind strays. 

“Where’s Hotch?”

“He’s not answering his cell. I assume it’s on vibrate. He’ll get the message when he wakes up.” JJ shrugs, a slight roll of her eyes. 

_But Aaron never sleeps with his phone on vibrate_ , Emily thinks immediately. She’s spent enough nights in his bed to know otherwise, having been awoken multiple times to its ring. But of course she can’t say that. As her stomach drops to her feet, the small apartment suddenly becomes even smaller as the walls close in and the stench of death floods her senses. She hovers close as JJ dials his cell number once more when they hurry out of the building, onto the busy street in the middle of McLean.

She’s off her game at the doctor’s house, unable to focus on what’s right in front of her, and it’s obvious. Reid keeps staring in her direction every couple minutes, looking suspicious of her uncharacteristic distraction. JJ had peered at her just a few seconds too long when Emily asked for the third time that morning if she’d heard from Hotch. And now that it’s just her and Reid, it’s getting harder to pull her weight as the minutes tick past.

Emily lasts another hour before she can’t take it anymore.. By now, even Reid is starting to look concerned with the fact it’s been over two hours since they started, and no one has heard from their boss. He does a better job at hiding it, but Emily’s known him long enough to pick up on the detached way he combs through the evidence, a bit more distant than usual, his typical acuity gone, his gaze lingering out the window. 

Enough is enough.

“You know, I can get to Hotch’s and get back here in a half an hour? We need more eyes,” is how she justifies her sudden departure, doing her best to remain neutral even though her mind is practically screaming at this point. It’s so unlike him to not answer his phone, let alone be late. 

“Garcia can give you his address,” Reid says as she pockets the keys. She says nothing, because what Reid doesn’t know is she’s had his address memorized for months now. 

Emily could make the drive to his apartment in her sleep. The long yet familiar hallway in his building is endless today, and her palms start to sweat as she nears his door, knocking rapidly. Her heart starts to race and her blood runs cold when she hears his phone ring on the other side of the door, drawing her weapon in her own shaking hands. 

She’s not sure what she’s expecting to find when she tries the knob, finding it unlocked. And when the door opens easily, it all but confirms something is _direly_ wrong. He’d _never_ leave the door unlocked like this. Inside, it’s exactly as he typically leaves it, spotless, everything in its place. And upon first glance, nothing is out of the ordinary. But then she sees the gaping hole in the wall that could have only come from a gun, and her worst fears are again confirmed when she rounds the corner and finds the pool of blood soaking into the carpet. 

She stares at it for a few seconds too long before she has to look away, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

...

The next two hours are a surreal, haunting blur of time as she goes on autopilot, calling Garcia with as much composure as she can muster **,** requesting backup and FBI techs immediately. 

There’s no mistaking the obvious concern in Reid’s voice again as she relays what she sees in yet another phone call. She nearly chokes on her words as she surveys it all- the wall, the blood on the floor. 

Garcia is the one who does the heavy lifting, making the calls and eventually tracks him down to St. Sebastian Hospital, admitted under circumstances that could only mean one thing. 

_Foyet._

_It makes sense_ , she thinks on the drive there. How could it not? Foyet had taken Morgan’s credentials for a reason, they just hadn’t known it at the time. It’d been the least of their concerns in Boston. Emily recognizes the message he’s leaving - it’s the sign of a true psychopath - a teasing reminder of the terror he wields and how easily he can slip away, undetected, leaving death in his wake and little regard to what is left behind. With a nervous gulp she walks right into the hospital, reaching for her shield with a trembling hand at the check-in desk. 

She isn’t sure what she expects to find, but seeing him in a hospital bed, still unconscious, is enough to shake any form of resolve she’s gathered on the way up the elevator. _Stabbed nine times_ . _Lucky to be alive_. Emily can barely process any of it, and she’s grateful there’s nothing in her stomach when she’s finally alone with him. Sitting beside him makes her antsy, standing beside his bed feels hawkish and invasive. Instead, she flips through his chart to busy herself, only to see the letters LC, and something sets warning bells off in her head. 

_Living children. This doesn’t end here. There’s an ulterior motive behind all of this_. With an overwhelming sense of dread, she reaches for her phone and calls Reid one more time. 

…

Aaron is relatively lucid when he wakes up, despite being pumped with enough painkillers to numb a large animal. He’s impossibly pale and groggy, and even the smallest movements take a substantial amount of effort. 

“Where am I?” He licks his lips; she reaches for the plastic container of water on the tray at his side, filling a cup and holding the straw to his chapped lips. 

“A hospital,” she says quietly, unable to take her eyes off the large bandage on his chest, or the ones on his arms. Thinking of what’s underneath of them makes her stomach hurt. 

“How did I get here?” His eyes flutter shut and open again, and Emily wonders just how much of this he’ll remember in a few hours.

“Foyet drove you.” 

He nods with nothing more than a frown, unwilling to face the reality of the last few hours quite yet **.** A monitor beeps loudly from the hallway, followed by the footsteps of multiple nurses racing into the room adjacent to his. Emily can’t help but shiver, swallowing the wave of nausea that rips through her.

“You must be hating this,” Aaron says through gritted teeth. “I know how you feel about -” 

“Don’t worry about that now,” she says, swallowing the lump that’s been in her throat since she woke up that morning. “Are you still in pain?”

He ignores her, just winces, which is the only answer she needs. “How long have you been here?” 

“A little while,” she says weakly, but she’s not even sure herself how long it’s been. Could be hours, or maybe a few minutes. Either way, it doesn’t matter, and seconds later, the door swings open, revealing Morgan, JJ, and Dave, their faces aghast but relieved at the same time. 

No one makes pleasantries, just a quick exchange of knowing glances and thin smiles. Emily runs them through the scene in his apartment, hoping that they don’t notice just how badly her hands are shaking. 

“Can you remember what happened?” Emily asks him moments later, clutching the bedrail a little too tightly. It’s taking too much effort just to keep his eyes open at this point, and the beeping of the monitors every so often reminds her just how _fucking_ close they could have been to losing him. “Anything at all?” 

He pieces through the cloudy haze of what happened, his face twisting in pain as he struggles to connect the dots. It’s almost bizarre to see him on the other side of the questioning for once, and she purposefully keeps her back angled away from Morgan, JJ, and Dave. Even in his current state, he knows all the right things to ask of _them_ \- what was missing, what was left behind. 

“I looked over your whole apartment. Nothing felt out of place.” She says it as evenly as she can, leaving out the fact she knows his apartment as well as her own at this point. She of all people would know if something was missing, for sure. “But there was a page missing from your day planner.”

He figures it out instantly, his mouth twisting into a frown, his body suddenly feeling like lead. “Haley’s maiden name is Brooks. I always listed her in the B’s in my personal information in case it ever fell into the wrong hands,” he croaks, the panic beginning to set in his face, even through his heavily drugged state. “He knows where they live.” 

JJ glances at Dave, who stares at Morgan, and Morgan’s eyes rest solely on her. Emily wishes the ground would swallow her whole, for this is truly their worst nightmare, as they know exactly what Foyet is capable of. It only makes sense he would go after Haley and Jack next, and she can’t help but feel inordinately guilty as Morgan and JJ practically sprint out of the hospital. _Maybe if we hadn’t kept this a secret for so long, he’d go after me. But he’s going after Haley, because what we have is still a secret, and what they had was real._

…

She barely takes a full deep breath until word comes that Haley and Jack are safe, on their way to St. Sebastian, as protective detail is worked out. 

Haley barely looks in her direction at all, but Jack offers a shy wave, looking confused and a little scared. Emily’s throat tightens as she remembers the last time she’d seen him, less than a week ago after his soccer game. Aaron had picked him up, they’d brought back pizza. It was her idea to have ice cream while watching a movie, and Jack’s eyes practically bugged out of his head when Emily showed him how to add whipped cream until it practically made a fluffy mountain adorned with sprinkles. She’d ignored the tiny ache in her chest when she caught Aaron’s eyes from over the sticky mess in the kitchen, instead following Jack at his insistence to the living room to pick the movie. They’d only met once before that, a few days after he’d initially suggested it, and she’d won him over through a few games of checkers she let him win. 

“Hi, Emiwy,” he says, the mispronunciation of her name tearing at her heartstrings. Even though Haley is standing between the two of them, holding her son’s hand, Jack still smiles at her, his face lightening up a bit when she smiles back as brightly as she can. “Emiwy, can you play checkers with me again soon?” 

Emily stiffens, because she’s certain both JJ and Dave overheard Jack’s innocent but telling question, and she definitely doesn’t miss the way Haley’s face darkens like a stormcloud. Yet she can’t help but crouch down to his level, giving him a reassuring smile. “Sure, Jack. That sounds like fun.” What she doesn’t forget is this may be the last time she ever sees Aaron’s son. 

“Where is Aaron?” Haley asks, her tone clipped and cool. 

Emily stares at her shoes. “He’s right in here.” 

“Jack, wait with JJ for a few minutes,” Haley says calmly, even as she swallows hard, and Emily is glad it’s not just the two of them in the hallway together. “Mommy needs to talk to Daddy first.” 

“Okay, Mommy.” The little boy nods, taking JJ’s hand reluctantly as Emily pushes the door open. Haley audibly gasps when she sees Aaron, who opens his eyes with a grimace when he sees both his ex-wife and Emily standing within inches of one another. 

“What’s going on, Aaron?” She asks, her confusion turning to fear as she takes in the sight of Aaron laying in bed, the bandages still in place. 

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he finally croaks. Then he turns to Emily. “Did SWAT clear the house?” 

“Everything is done,” Emily says quietly. “It’s secure. No sign of anything disturbed.” 

“Could we have a moment alone, please?” Haley interrupts, her eyes locked on Emily, a mix of emotions ranging from anger and worry to embarrassment and regret. She’s doing her best to appear collected and brave, but Emily recognizes the look on her face - the fear that’s etched so firmly it becomes part of you, owning you. The knowledge that your life is in imminent danger. She knows it well, actually.

“Of course.” She slips out of the room discreetly and closes the door behind her, desperately in need of some space. There isn’t enough air for all of them in that room, and she doesn’t dare turn around to look back. In fact, she’s so intensely focused on getting away from that damn room she practically runs right into JJ, in an attempt to find the closest exit. Emily can’t get away from her fast enough. 

JJ seems to recognize her distress immediately. With an overwhelming amount of compassion Emily isn’t sure she deserves, she asks, “Why don’t we get some air? You can stretch your legs a little bit … you’ve been sitting for awhile, haven’t you?”

Emily can only nod, following blindly as JJ leads the way to a small balcony off one of the hospital wings. The crisp afternoon breeze does some good for them both, and Emily focuses on taking some deep, steady breaths as JJ sits beside her, patient and waiting. 

“You good?” 

“I think so. I just … needed to get out of there.” Emily rests her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands. “That was - I … I can’t believe this is happening.” 

“Emily,” JJ says gently, her voice full of curiosity. “Is … are you … is there something going on we should know about?” It’s clear she already suspects something, and Emily suddenly wishes they would have come clean awhile ago. Despite telling Aaron months before she was tired of keeping secrets, the truth never actually came out. They hadn’t quite found the time to tell the rest of the team in the midst of everything. Maybe they should have, after all. 

Emily just stares at her knees. “You could say that.” When she looks up, she finds JJ’s eyes on her, the opposite of judgmental, but instead full of understanding and warmth. “It’s … complicated. Me and Aaron. Really complicated.” 

The corners of JJ’s lips turn up at the mention of his first name. “What good story isn’t complicated?” It’s how she smiles, reaching for Emily’s hand, that assures her it might just all be okay. As okay as it can be, with Aaron lucky to be alive, convalescing from nine stab wounds and a serial killer targeting his ex wife and child. “I know we don’t have a lot of time, but … how long has this been going on?” 

“Almost ten years,” Emily mutters, and nearly laughs when JJ’s jaw nearly hits the ground. _Has it been that long?_

“What are you - ten years? But Aaron was -” 

“Let me rephrase,” she says slowly, wondering how she’s going to piece this together cohesively. “I’ve _known_ Aaron for ten years. We met when he worked security for my mother. When I was in school. We uh … it went on for awhile. For almost a year while I was at Yale.” 

JJ’s eyes narrow, then widen, her hand flying to her mouth. “A _year_? You and Hotch? How old were you?” 

“Yeah. Well, more than that … if …” Emily trails off, unable to formulate words. “He started dating Haley the summer after we got together.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, glancing in the direction of the doors. “I was … really young. Young and stupid. Clearly things didn’t quite work out.” 

“And what about now?” JJ isn’t exactly prying, but Emily knows she’s expecting the truth, and it’s what she’s owed at this point. 

“We’ve been … figuring things out?” She offers noncommittally. “It was complicated then and it’s complicated now.” Emily shrugs, searching for the right words she’s never been able to find since the day she met him. 

Luckily, JJ doesn’t seem to need more of an explanation. “I’ve … often wondered about the two of you. Over the years. Some things just didn't add up.” 

“Like what?” 

“When you started at the BAU, he changed. Hotch has always kept things pretty close to the vest, but something was different with him from the minute you walked in. I can’t explain it. Little things through the last few years. How he looks at you when he _thinks_ no one is looking. How he immediately seemed to trust your opinion almost from the beginning. **”** JJ pats her knee with a thoughtful smile. “I’ve had my suspicions for awhile now, Em.” 

“What about everyone else?” Emily tries to conceal a groan. 

“Spence is clueless,” she says with a laugh, “But I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you. Morgan hasn’t ever said anything about it, but if Garcia knew, he would too, and vice versa. Dave … definitely knows something.” 

“Dave’s always known,” Emily quips, lifting her face to the sun for a few brief moments. “We’ve never actually discussed it but … he’s not in the dark. He and Aaron are close.” 

“Sounds about right. Listen, I know why you felt like you couldn’t say anything. I felt the same way when Will and I got together.” She twists the ring on her finger as if to prove a point. “It felt so … it never felt like the right time. So, I understand that part well.” She looks as if she wants to say more but doesn’t, just reaches for Emily’s hand. “He’s going to get through this, Emily. We’ll get him through it.” 

“This shouldn’t be happening, JJ. They shouldn’t have to … this isn’t fair.” 

“Life is never fair, Em.” 

_Isn’t that the fucking truth?_

**…**

She’s waiting outside his room with Dave when the US Marshals show up, ready to escort Haley and Jack into the waiting, nondescript car outside the hospital entrance. Emily can barely watch as Jack turns back to wave to his dad once more before disappearing down the hallway. The bereft look on Aaron’s face, even through the painkillers, is something she never wants to see again.

There are no words to comfort him in the long moments that follow, nothing to offer even a moment of reprieve from the plaguing fears that will now become his daily reality. Emily sits with him for as long as she can, on the cold plastic chair beside his bed. Aaron stares straight ahead, stock still, and it’s silent except for the metronomic beat of the monitors attached to his body for company. Eventually he falls asleep, and she’s grateful for the heavy painkillers that bring him some kind of relief. It’s also her cue to leave, because it’s Dave’s turn to sit with him. She’s been there for hours, the lack of sleep is starting to take its toll, and besides, if Dave sees how terrible she looks, he’ll have some choice words for her. If she’s lucky, she can slip out unseen, and will avoid any conversations she’s not in the mood to have. 

Except, she’s not that lucky. Dave stealthily catches her on her way out of the hospital. His hand on her elbow is a reminder that she’s not the bad guy here, even though she feels like one. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this,” he chides, his eyes warm as he sips from a paper cup full of coffee. “Not even for a second. You couldn’t have done anything differently. Foyet would have found him one way or another. This is personal for him. It has nothing to do with you.” 

“He wasn’t supposed to be alone.” Emily shakes her head ruefully. “Had I been there … maybe he would have just gone after me and not him. Or if he hadn’t gone home...who knows what would have happened. He was supposed to come to my place … after Canada.” 

_Canada. It feels like a lifetime ago by now, when in reality it’s only been a handful of hours._

“No, Emily. You know better than that. He would have killed you, left Aaron to watch, and _then_ would have waited to go after Haley and Jack. That’s his M.O. He doesn’t stop. He’s not going to. Not until he’s dead.”

“We have to find him, Dave.” Emily grits her teeth, unable to fully meet his gaze after hearing his words. “This is -” She shifts her gaze to Aaron’s room, where he’s still sleeping, his face contorted in pain. “He can’t live like this forever.” 

“We will, Em,” he says confidently, crossing his arms over his chest. “We will.” 

She almost believes him. 

…

She and Dave take shifts visiting Aaron in the hospital in the days afterward. She sneaks in food, which he merely picks at, if he even touches it at all. Some days they talk, but most days they don’t. Instead, it’s a heavy silence, full of things they should say but can’t, the rebuild of whatever they were working towards in a holding pattern for the time being. It feels wrong to think about, let alone bring up.

“I’m coming back as soon as I’m medically cleared,” he says one afternoon when only the wind beating the windows is louder than the thunder that rattles them. He must be feeling at least _slightly_ better, because he’s been irritable since she showed up a few hours ago. At first she was concerned, and now, she’s just annoyed. I”m not taking any extra time off.” 

“You really think that’s a good idea?” She looks up briefly from the magazine she isn’t reading. It’s been on the same page for the last fifteen minutes. “You don’t want to take another week?”

“It doesn’t matter if it is or isn’t. It’s what has to be done.” He keeps his tone curt, pushing himself up against the pillows, swearing under his breath as it aggravates one of the healing wounds on his chest. “You of all people should know this. I can’t just sit around and wait for Foyet to decide to come back.” 

“Are you this pleasant when Dave visits? Or do you save the attitude just for me?” She snaps right back, eyes narrowing. 

“No one’s forcing you to stay.” Aaron reaches for the IV pump that controls his pain medication and adds another dose. 

“Maybe you’re right,” Emily says, turning away from him. As much as she wants to push back, seeing him like this hasn’t gotten any easier. His body might be healing, but each day he retreats into himself a little bit more, a quiet rage building underneath his carefully wound surface. So she gathers her jacket, keeping her back to him.

“Wait,” he says, sounding exhausted as he makes sense of what’s just happened. “I’m sorry, Emily.” He sags in defeat, what little strength he had when she arrived earlier all but gone when she finally turns around again.

“We’ll get him, Aaron. Or I will. Somehow.” She swallows bravely, standing up a little straighter in defiance as she practically watches the hope vanish from his face too. 

He laughs bitterly, full of anger. Not at her, per say, but the entire situation at hand. “Foyet hid for ten years just to watch Shaughnessy’s life fall apart. We’re not going to catch him unless he wants us to.” He’s not going to stop until I’m dead. Or they are. Probably both.” 

She stares at him, shaking her head. “We’ll find a way.” 

“How do you know?” 

_She doesn’t, but she has the upper hand and she can’t let him down. “_ We always do.” 

...

Strauss makes him take a month off, a non-negotiable four weeks. Emily is glad she’s not there to witness the conversation between the two of them, because she knows Aaron won’t be happy with the demand. Dave only tells her about it afterward, in some valiant attempt to prove he _isn’t_ falling apart at the seams, but in reality, it has the opposite effect. They all know just how badly he’s struggling, yet there’s not much they can do to fix any of it **.**

The healing process is a slow one, and coming home from the hospital is a humbling experience. At first, any movement is excruciating; he relies on the painkillers to get through a day. They make him nauseous and incredibly itchy **.** He sleeps poorly if at all, his dreams are more like nightmares, insidious and unrelenting. 

Sometimes, he’s being stabbed again, the knife piercing his skin over and over. Other times it’s Jack’s face he sees, just out of reach only to be torn away with terrified screams. Sometimes, Haley’s voice haunts him - her happiness in the beginning of their doomed marriage a tormenting reminder of how badly he let her down. Other nights it’s a loop of the many disagreements from over the years. It brings on a shroud of guilt, because he’s the reason they’re in this mess they never even saw coming. 

He calls Emily one night when the pain is particularly bad, when his third attempt to sleep leaves him drenched in a cold sweat, the blankets on the floor and the sheets pulled away from the mattress. It’s a split second decision, a moment of weakness, but he’s dialing her number before he can talk himself out of it.

“You sound like hell,” Emily says when she picks up on the second ring, her voice thick with fatigue. “Have you slept at all?” 

“I feel like it, too.” Aaron grapples with the mess on his bedside table in search of the prescription bottles, cursing under his breath when his lack of coordination sends most of the things to the floor. “And not much.” 

“I’m on my way,” she says, suppressing a yawn. It’s like history is repeating itself as she thinks back to the night he did the same for her, without question, many years ago. She finds a sweatshirt and looks at the clock - _how many nights will this go on -_ and flips the deadbolt on the door.

“You can’t come over here, you know that.” He makes a little noise, one she recognizes as him in pain. “If Foyet is tracking me somehow or following me and he finds out about you, or sees you … you know he’d come after you too.” 

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Her keys are already in hand, her jacket already on. It’s a thought she’s had a few times since he’s come home, one she all but ignored. _It wouldn’t be the first time she’s taken a risk that could potentially end her life._

“No,” he says firmly, the most coherent he’s sounded since she answered the phone. “I won’t put you in that position.” 

“Then why did you call in the first place?” Emily mutters, sinking down on the couch in her own apartment, her eyes on the door. 

“I miss you.” It’s the first time he’s acknowledged anything between them since he’d been stabbed. It’s as if _not_ admitting it will keep her safer in his mind. “I wanted to hear your voice.” 

His honesty is sobering, enough so that now she’s wide awake. “I know.” _What she doesn’t want to tell him is that she misses him, too._ “None of this is right, you know. Or fair.” 

“I know,” he grunts. “Tell that to Haley and Jack. I can’t.” There’s no way to hide the bitterness in his voice, or the fear.

“I can’t tell them either, Aaron,” she says softly. “You know that.” Her heart aches for him, for the pain he’s in, with no way to ease any of it. Hell, they don’t even know where Haley and Jack are at this point. But that’s for their protection, another necessary evil of this arrangement. 

“I think you need to get some sleep,” she tells him gently after a few moments. “Call me in the morning.” It’s only a few hours away now. It’s pointless for her at this point, but hopefully he’s able to have some relief for a little while. 

“Goodnight, Emily,” he says, sounding lost. A few second later, the phone goes dead in her ear. 

**…**

He’s back exactly thirty days after the stabbing, as she expected, a milestone they should never have to signify. But when she picks him up that morning, at her own insistence, she isn’t quite sure what she’ll find in his apartment that has since been cleaned and repaired.They’ve given him space, she’s stopped her visits at his request, limiting their interactions to daily phone calls **,** in the morning and before she goes to bed. She tells him about the cases they have - it’s a slow month so none of them are even really worth discussing. It’s nothing they haven’t seen before; they’re just going through the motions. But he listens, asks about how they’re all managing and quietly reassures her that they’re doing fine in his absence. Time passes like it always does, until one day he’s back, like he never left at all. 

Except things are _drastically_ different. 

He’s a mess in Louisville. Rash, a shell of himself, and they all watch in horror as he unravels even further in a shocking, callous display of disregard. In fact, she’s so simultaneously angry _with_ him, _and_ concerned _for_ him, that afterward she hardly speaks to him on the flight back to Quantico. The tension is palpable, enough to be felt by the rest of the team. Luckily Morgan is the one who takes the seat beside Aaron, his presence nothing more than a comfort for the few hours in the air. Emily has a feeling he’s secretly grateful for the quiet support.

He says nothing as she follows him up the stairs to his door, just a little slower than normal and he fumbles with the keys. “You didn’t have to walk me up here, you know.” It’s one of the only things he’s said since they got into the car almost an hour ago. 

“I know.” She nonchalantly takes a quick loop around his apartment, searching for anything out of place or another warning sign that Foyet may be back once again. Everything is as it should be. But as he bolts the door, his back pressed against the door as he pulls in a ragged breath, she knows she made the right choice. 

“Stop profiling me, Emily,” he says gruffly, throwing his bag down and taking a few steps in her direction.

She wasn’t even aware that she was staring at him. 

But before she can breathe, she’s being held against the door, his body possessively pushed into hers. “What are you doing?” Emily hisses in his ear, his strength taking her by surprise as he lifts her up like he’s done many times before. “You said we can’t do this.” 

“I’ll take my chances.” He buries his face in her neck, gets his hands under her shirt, groaning. “Just this once.” 

It’s quick, rough, and slightly uncoordinated, with her legs wrapped around his waist as he drives into her relentlessly, her back hitting the door. But he’s careful to make sure she goes first, and when she does, her scream is silenced by his mouth on hers, a reminder that he’s right there with her when he spasms and spills into her with a groan. Afterward, he lowers her down and mutters something about the fact she shouldn’t stay, just in case. But it’s just a formality. They both know she isn’t going anywhere. 

At least for a little while. 

Emily slips out from his bed a few hours later, after his sleeping pill has taken effect. He’s somewhere in the midst of a dreamless rest, so she wanders into the living room, getting dressed again along the way. There isn’t much to clean but she tidies up anyway, folding a few blankets and putting their dinner plates from earlier in the dishwasher. 

And when she goes to leave, double checking the locked door behind her, Emily pulls her jacket up a little higher to conceal her face in the shadowy hallway of his building, her heart pounding just a little bit faster until she’s locked in the safety of her own apartment. 

**...**

Things get a little better after that, but of course, he’s never fully there, no matter how hard he tries to suppress the relentless fear of the unknown by throwing himself into work. There’s the constant, nagging pain of Jack’s absence, the despair for what their lives have turned into, and his remaining hours are consumed with the thought of locating Foyet. The team picks up his slack, what remarkably little there is, because he’s Aaron and even at his worst, his skill level is unmatched. But they tread just a little lighter while still keeping things as status quo as possible. 

Aaron and Emily find each other in Long Island and New Mexico, Oklahoma City and even in Los Angeles, a familiar return to what they’ve never been able to deny for too long. It’s the best they can do right now, but it works, because it’s the only option they have, a reminder that things have changed, this time not for the better.. 

“You do know I’m healed, right?” he whispers into her hair, his arms tightening around her as she carefully shifts off of him one night in Los Angeles, her limbs sore and her face flushed. “I’m _fine_.” 

“I don’t seem to recall you being medically cleared for this kind of activity,” Emily jokes, snuggling just a little closer into his side as her fingers make contact with something bumpy and rough on his skin. They haven’t talked about the nine scars that adorn his chest. They might be healed, but she’s still not quite used to seeing them. His hand comes to cover hers, but he doesn’t move her fingers away for once. 

“We all have some, you know,” Emily whispers, pressing down ever so slightly to feel it properly. “Scars, I mean.” 

“I know.” And he kisses her, his mind flashing back to a time where he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to again. 

She knows there’s a heaviness to him there wasn’t before. When he falls asleep, she lays in the dark in the middle of Los Angeles and wonders if they’ll ever have the chance they truly deserve. 

**…**

Aaron doesn’t say much on the way to Red Onion Supermax Prison a few weeks later, and Emily doesn’t quite know what to expect. She’s only ever heard about Karl Arnold, _The Fox_ , the notorious serial killer and family annihilator, but what she does know is enough to make her skin crawl. But he’s their best chance at the moment, or else they wouldn’t have made the _hours_ long trip from Quantico in the first place.

“The first thing he’s going to want to know is why I’m not wearing my wedding ring,” Aaron says stiffly, crisp and professional. “Your presence will throw him off guard, but he’ll try to pull you into his fantasy.” He’s distant, almost cold, as they walk, their strides even, down the long line of cells, but the firm line of his mouth tells her he’s bothered by the relentless **shouting** from the other inmates. 

Aaron doesn’t miss the tremor in her voice when she recognizes Garret Pain. For a fleeting second, he contemplates scrapping the entire arrangement altogether, because what he’s asking her to do as her superior is a stretch, and on a personal level, it’s nothing less than revolting. But they can’t, because they’re working with little as it is, and based on how things are going at home, their leads are slim to none. This _is_ their only option. 

“Agent Hotchner.” There’s a singsong cheerfulness in Karl’s voice, once the door secures behind them. Clearly this wasn’t what he anticipated; their little plan worked. “They didn’t say you were bringing a -” he practically licks his lips when he sees Emily, an evil smile curling his lips. “They just said two agents.”

“This is -” 

“Emily … Prentiss. I know all about you.” If he _is_ thrown off guard he recovers quickly, the way he sizes her up, calculating, already pulling her into the fantasy Aaron undoubtedly predicted.

It’s almost _easy_ to tap back into the world she swore she’d leave behind. And while she isn’t Lauren Reynolds anymore, she isn’t exactly Emily Prentiss either for the few hours she sits in the cold cell with Aaron a few feet away. She’s _almost too good_ at this - this is what she was trained to do, and it takes her back to her days in Europe as she sifts through Karl’s mind, coyly picking through the pieces. His eyes are a shocking shade of blue, almost as blue as Ian’s, just less refined and a lot less charming. But he plays right into her game, one she knows too well, and she draws out what she needs, cajoling him easily. It leaves a taste in her mouth she can’t get rid of, the sensation of feeling violated even with the two feet of space between them. 

Aaron is intensely focused, listening to her every word, yet he hardly even looks _at_ her. The slightest glance in her direction might raise Karl’s suspicions about the two of them. He keeps his gaze fixed ahead of him as they work through the profiles. Karl has other ideas when the conversation takes a different turn once things start to unfold.

“Tell me, Emily, does he make you scream each time he fucks you?” He sneers, his eyes shining as he stares between them both. “I’m curious.” How he knows, they have no idea, but there’s a reason why he got away with what he did for so long. 

“That’s enough, Karl,” Aaron snaps, angling his body a bit closer to Emily’s out of instinct. “We’re here to talk about the families. Not your sick fantasies. **”** From her place beside him, Emily remains completely still, her face stone. _She’s good_ , he thinks. _Where did she learn to be this good?_

“Are you what tore his marriage apart? I can see you’re not wearing your ring.” He smirks to Aaron, crossing his arms over his chest. “A beautiful woman like her, it must be distracting, Agent Hotchner.” He leers at Emily again, sounding almost dreamy. “The things I would do to you. Want to hear about them?” 

Beside her, Aaron is the one who flinches, his hand tightening into a fist. But Emily is prepared, brushing off his advance with ease. “Tell us why, Karl,” she says again, continuing her profiling of him like she’s done since they sat down. 

“I’ve already told you why.” 

“You told me how, not why.” Emily is all in at this point, knowing exactly what she has to do, the resignation building in her chest. 

…

A little while later, sits hunched in a chair, Aaron standing before her. “You helped the case, you know.” _And at what expense?_

“Getting intimate with a killer,” she says, staring at her feet. “Is _so_ different.” _Of course it is. It’s not the first time you’ve done it, either_ , she reminds herself. “I made it personal.” _Again, not for the first time._

“It’s what we do,” he tells her quietly, not wanting to push her any further. “It helped the case. You did what you had to.” _It’s not the first time she’s heard those words or at least a variation of them, or said them to herself to justify her own actions. Except now, it just feels so incredibly wrong_ , in a way it never did before. All she wants is to get the fuck out of there.

From the tiny monitor in the room adjacent to his cell, they hear him yet again. Aaron stiffens when Emily flinches at the sound of his voice and he regrets bringing her here at all. “Agent Hotchner, before you go, there’s one thing I’d like to share with you.” Karl looks amused, as if he’s saving the best for last, one final trick up his sleeve. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” Emily groans, rising to her feet.

Karl is still grinning in his cell when they return, staring between them both like an animal ready to pounce, holding up the sheet of paper with the eerie message scrawled across it. _Look at what I’ve done_. “It’s quite brilliant, you know.” 

“We’re done,” Aaron bites. “We’ll find whoever sent you that.” 

“No, Agent Hotchner. I think he’s already found you.” 

_It can’t be._

“Hotch,” Emily says anxiously from over his shoulder as he flips through the pages of the files and then the book, searching for what he already knows he’ll find. 

“It’s great to see you squirm, Agent Hotchner,” Karl laughs, enjoying every moment of Aaron’s reaction, every second of his mounting fears. 

The Red Eye of Providence stares back at them both, sending the blood rushing to her ears when it suddenly all makes perfect sense. “Foyet,” she gasps, her body going numb at the sheer anguish that flashes across Aaron’s face. 

“He knew you’d come.” Karl is laughing now, a maniacal sound that will haunt her for a _very_ long time. All she can do is follow Aaron out of the prison quickly, with the mountain of files in her arms. This time, she doesn’t even _hear_ the raucous shouting from the other prisoners, just the door slamming behind them. The darkening sky that greets them is an ominous foreshadow of what’s to come. 

...

“You did good back there with Karl,” he says once they’re in the car on the way home, another long trip ahead of them. Miles and miles of endless highway with only unspoken words between them. “You’re the reason we solved this case, you know. You’re the one who profiled the unsub being a woman.” It’s a weak attempt to ease her discomfort, but it’s all he has to give at the moment.

“I hope it was worth it.” She mumbles, her head turned towards the window. She feels dirty, used even, as she presses herself into the passenger door, further away from him. 

“You heard Morgan on the phone. It’s over. Sometimes we just have to be okay with that.” He doesn’t take her hand because both of his are currently tightened around the wheel, slick with sweat, his throat tight. This is much more than the murdered families now, and they both know it. This is personal, another attack on him, his ex-wife, and son - one that’s never going to stop. But she’s clearly _not_ over what just happened back in that prison cell. As her superior, he owes her the decency of a reassurance, and as a lover, something else entirely even he can’t explain. 

“I heard him.” Emily mumbles, wishing the last few hours would file into her mind as neatly as Europe had. “At least we can be grateful for that.” 

“Are you-?” He asks at last, only to be cut off quickly. 

“I’m fine.” She’s concerned about him too, not oblivious of the sweat that’s been collecting on his forehead since they got in the car. Karl had played them all along, brought them right into his game. It was never just about the case, it was also to see Aaron break, just because he could make it happen. A true sadist, in every sense of the word. She rests her head against the window, but resists opening it since the rain is starting to fall, pecking the windshield before the sky completely opens. An indication of anything less than her typical composure will only worry him more. She can’t do that to him now. “Can’t say the same for yourself, can you?” 

“No.” _How could he?_ He should have known from the beginning it was a trap. Foyet is always ahead of them, just far enough he can almost _watch_ things destroy in his wake. He should have known this would be his play. But he pushes the button that releases the window, cool air rushing in with the rain, as if he can read her mind, and when he does, she takes his hand tentatively in her own. 

“We’re going to get him, Aaron,” Emily says, and while she sounds convincing, she’s starting to wonder if the words everyone’s been repeating for the last few months are actually in fact true. 

…

True to her word, they get him, but they're too late, and Haley walks right into the trap Foyet laid. It’s almost too easy for him to lure her in, paralyzing her with fear and a string of lies. It’s a sickening twist of fate, because all she did was follow the rules Aaron had so carefully arranged, and yet in the end, he couldn't protect her from it. 

And what’s even worse is that Foyet is going to make him - all of them - listen to every last moment. It’s one of his final moves, to break him down to nothing, to destroy him. 

“Why so quiet?” Foyet rasps tauntingly as they race to the house in the middle of Fairfax, listening in through phones. “You usually lash out when you’re frustrated.” It’s evident the sole act of torturing Aaron so deliberately has been calculated and planned to the last second. “All you had to do was stop looking for me. And you wouldn’t be in this mess.” 

Emily presses her fist to her lips as the cars tick by through the window as they speed down the road. The tactical deployment Morgan sent isn’t going to make it in time. None of them will, even as JJ is doing her best to navigate the mounting traffic. 

“Haley, show him no weakness, no fear.” From his own car, Aaron grips the steering wheel in one hand. _He’s going to be too late._ “We’re on our way. All of us.” 

“I know. Sam told me all about him. Is he, uh -” 

“Sam is fine,” Aaron says, hoping it gives her a few final moments of peace. She shouldn’t have to know the truth about the man who protected her and Jack so diligently, or the agony in which he died.

“Aaron, Aaron, Aaron. Is that why your marriage broke up? Because you’re a _liar_?” Foyet almost sounds gleeful, his tone light and mocking, and Emily can practically see his Aaron’s eyes darken with anger.

“Don’t listen to him, Haley.” 

The silence is all but a confirmation - from both of them - in a sense, it’s the truth being revealed. 

But Haley speaks first, before Aaron can say anything else to make these last few moments anything less than horrific. “I’d like to talk to Emily. For a moment. Please.” 

_Oh God, no._ Emily knows what’s coming. Whatever Haley wants to say will bring to light _everything_ that’s been unsaid for the last several years. An absolution, so to speak. But maybe she owes it to her in these final moments.

“Haley - “ Aaron begins, his voice starting to crack, and Emily nearly drops the phone right out of her shaking hands. “You don’t have to - we know -” 

“Emily?” The terror in Haley’s voice is evident even through the phone. “Can you hear me?” 

The line is silent, except for the heavy breathing she recognizes as Aaron’s, coupled with Foyet’s, one right after the other. It should have never come to this, she thinks, the bubble in her chest starting to grow. What he’s being put through right now is nothing less than emotional torture, a cruel final plunge of a knife, this one metaphorical. Being privy to this conversation, let alone a part of it, feels so inherently wrong, as if she’s partly to blame for this mess. 

“I can hear you, Haley.” She doesn’t dare look at JJ, whose eyes are planted on the road even though she can obviously hear every word of what’s happening, just like they all can. “I’m here.” 

“Emily, I know we, um -uh ...I - can you … do you think you can … look in on him from time to time?” Haley takes a sharp breath that sounds more like a gasp for air, and Emily grips the armrest a little tighter. “Jack, I mean. And make sure he -” She stops, her voice choking, unable to continue. “He really likes you, you know.” 

“I will.” She might vomit right on the spot, and there are wet drops she recognizes as tears falling right onto her pants. “I - Haley - I’m - I’m sorry for -” 

“You don’t have to explain, Emily. I’ve always known. I think we all did, I just didn’t want to see it for myself until it was too late. Figure things out ... be happy. Make sure Aaron laughs every now and then, like he used to. Remember those days?” 

Her eyes burn, her mind a mess of things she can’t identify, her body heavy with loathing for Foyet, with grief for Aaron and fear for Haley _._ “I will.” It’s the best answer she can come up with.

“Well then, now that we have _that_ settled. Any last words, Aaron?” Foyet says casually, as if he were asking what to bring over for dinner. “Haley and I really need to get going here.” 

_Son of a bitch_ . “You’re stronger than I ever was, Haley.” _It’s true,_ he thinks, the years playing through his mind. It’d been doomed from the start, but she saw it through to the very end, now paying the ultimate price.

“Aaron, I’m sorry. For … for what happened when I...for what I did -”

“Stop,” he chokes, the phone in his grasp so tightly it might snap. “It’s not important now. I’ll - I’m on my way. Tell Jack I need him working the case,” Aaron chokes, and somehow he gets the message across to his son. The gun clicks in the background, and he knows the end is near. “I know you didn’t sign on for this, Haley.” 

“Neither did you. I never wanted things to be this way, you know. For us. For you.” 

“I’m sorry for everything.” 

“Promise me you’ll figure things out, Aaron,” she says, and he _knows_ she’s referring to Emily. “Love is the most important thing, you know.” Haley’s voice is thick now, a sob threatening to spill over. “Figure things out and don’t look back.” 

“Time’s up. Looks like you’ll be a little too late, Aaron.” Foyet rasps. “At least everyone got to say their goodbyes.”

Emily closes her eyes, trembling, biting down a little too hard on her knuckle, drawing blood she can hardly taste in her mouth. 

The gun is louder than she imagined it would be, only to be followed by silence.

**...**

She’s an outsider in his former home, as if she’s overstepped a boundary she has no right to cross in the first place.

It’s clear exactly what’s happening up the narrow flight of stairs as she ascends them; the only sounds are coming from Aaron, completely incoherent, the fury in his fists and adrenaline pumping through his veins as he pummels Foyet again and again. Dave blocks the doorway, shielding her view as Morgan all but hauls him off of the dead serial killer, covered in blood.

“You don’t want to see him like this,” he murmurs gently, his own face twisted in heartbreak at the sound of Aaron’s cries. “We’ll take care of him.” 

But she doesn’t want to be the one to find Haley, either. It feels wrong to see her that way, in such an undignified manner after all that’s happened between them over the years. It only feels right to bypass the room just a few feet down the hallway, the one with a wayward navy shoe in her line of sight, blood stained all along the carpet, and keep on walking. Parts of the house are a mess, some completely destroyed, glass shattered, a few holes in the walls, curtains torn down. She surveys the damage and the remains of just what went down in the moments before, choking back the sob that’s been brewing for hours. 

Emily watches from a distance soon after, as Aaron cradles his son in his arms down the steps, the little boy holding onto his father in fear, a toy dangling from one hand. Besides a few tearful whimpers from Jack every few moments, the house is completely silent, as the heavy aftermath settles in. An aftermath that will never quite dissipate, people who will never be the same.

The Fairfax County Police show up in a cacophony of lights and sirens that alert their presence. Soon the scene is swarmed with people, an endless mess of people with good intentions yet it’s completely overwhelming for all of them **,** almost like an invasion when they’re at their most vulnerable **.** It’s Dave who finally persuades Aaron to leave Haley’s body, quietly saying it’s time, and Emily can see the coroner’s truck pulling in the driveway. If Aaron hears him, he certainly doesn’t make it known as he sits beside Haley, his head in his hands and clothes stained with blood. JJ is taking care of the press with her usual professionalism despite the fact her face is ghostly grey, Garcia is almost silent on the phone. Morgan is coordinating the police response, directing the Fairfax PD with a grim expression, and Reid barely looks at her as he awkwardly crutches by, moving from room to room. He looks uncomfortable, unable to be of much help in his current state but still unable to be anywhere else but with his team. 

It’s where they all belong.

 _Much_ later that night, Emily goes home alone, and sits on her apartment patio wrapped in a blanket in the cold, a bottle in her hands. She stays until the sun rises in a brilliant spectacle, making a mockery of the day before.

**…**

She runs right into Allison at the funeral, and Emily has never been more relieved to see a familiar face. The vast majority of the attendees are Haley’s family and friends, and while it isn’t _abundantly_ clear just _who_ she is, Emily still feels like she’s under scrutinous eyes for the duration of the service. 

“Emily, my God, I … I can’t believe any of this.” Her friend’s embrace is so familiar it makes her throat hurt as they hug right in the middle of the cramped, tiny bathroom. “I called you...I wasn’t sure if you needed anything.” 

“I know.” She’s heard her phone ring, at least three or four times. She just hasn’t had the wherewithal to answer. “I’m sorry for not answering. Things have been...hard.” 

“I … can imagine. How is Aaron?” For once, there isn't a double meaning behind her question. Allison is _fully_ aware of how their relationship has evolved over the last two years. It’d taken _multiple_ occasions and a few tough conversations, but she’d started to come around after the disastrous trip to Colorado almost a year ago. She knows what questions to ask and when to push, but to her credit, has given Emily the space to figure things out. “We sent a card to him and Jack and flowers to the funeral home.” 

“I know,” Emily says again, unsure of what else to say, considering they haven’t spent much time together since Haley’s death. “He says thank you. Aaron is ... struggling.” She wonders just how much of the story Allison knows. To an outsider, it’s barely even believable.

“How does this even happen, Emily? How do you even … why do you still do this? This job... it doesn’t get to you after awhile?” Allison shakes her head, struggling to make sense of it all. “Don’t you ever worry someone will come after you one day?” 

Emily shivers, her mind drifting back once again to a villa in the middle of Tuscany, the look on Ian’s face as she was hauled into the back of an SUV. “That won’t happen, Al.” _But you never really know._

“How does he move on from here? I know they were divorced and everything, but ...I can’t imagine having to do what he has to now.” 

Emily sighs, wondering the same thing. “Time, I guess.” _Supposedly it heals everything, but she’s never found that to be true._ “I really don’t know. He’s worried about Jack. Rightfully so, of course. It’ll be awhile for them both.” 

Allison nods uneasily, her mouth pressing in a thin line, her hand drifting to her stomach out of habit. 

“How are you feeling, by the way?” Emily gestures to her friend’s baby bump under her dress. It’s still small but undeniable now, having grown since the last time she saw it. Allison beams, her eyes practically sparkling at the switch in topic. “Well, I was feeling like shit for hours every day. You should have seen me in court with morning sickness. It got better though. I’m feeling pretty good.” 

“I bet it was something else,” she muses with a soft laugh, checking her hair in the mirror. It feels wrong to smile now, but the thought makes her lips curl up. “I’m really happy for you and Shane, Al. You’re going to be a great mom, you know.” 

“Thanks,” Allison reaches for her hand, squeezing hard. “And I’m here for you, Em. Through all of this … whatever you may need.” 

She nods gratefully, even if she isn’t sure what she needs at all.

…

They stare at one another in disbelief from across the table when JJ gets the call. They’re needed in Nashville, immediately. None of them want to go, but they have no other choice. They feel his absence on the plane, and throughout the duration of the case. 

Part of her is secretly relieved he won’t ever find out about how she menaced the unsub with a gun in his face, seething with rage. _You don’t survive that kind of thing without scars_ , is what she tells Dave and Morgan as they walk away. 

Sometimes she feels like her own are on full display. 

“You hanging in there?” Dave asks on the way back, slipping into the empty seat across from her. “Pretty sure you scared the shit out of Joe Belzer back in Nashville.” 

“Good. He deserved it,” Emily says quietly, not looking away from the window. “Bastard should rot in hell.” 

“And he will.” Dave folds his arms over his chest, studying her carefully. “Everything else okay?” What he’s really asking is if she’s heard from Aaron. She knows him well enough by now, as well as he knows her. He’s kept an extra close eye on her this trip; clearly he’s worried about them both. 

“He’s okay, Dave.” It’s not a lie; she’s heard from him once. It was a quick phone call but even then she can tell through his voice the guilt he’d had for not being there with them.

“He’ll be back.” There’s an undeniable truth to his words, something they all secretly know. “Strauss offered him full retirement and pension. I think that’s a good enough reason for him to want to come back.” There’s a soft gleam in his eye when he says it. “What do you think?” 

“You know something I don’t, Dave?” Emily asks, her eyebrows lifting. 

He shakes his head. “Not that I know of. I think you know good and well he’s coming back. 

Dave’s words ring true in less than two weeks. 

...

Time keeps moving as they all knew it would.

And for what it’s worth, the rest of the team’s reaction isn’t what she expected at all, to their credit. At first, no one really acknowledges what was said on the phone that terrible day. Aaron is still learning how to cope - they _all_ are, and the timing just isn’t quite right to add anything else into the mix. But it hangs in the air, awkwardly at times, and only a few weeks later, it comes up when she least expects it. 

“So … you and Hotch.” Morgan says from behind the wheel in Lockport as he drives them back to the police station from the hospital, a few weeks after Nashville. It’s the first time he’s directly asked her, but clearly knows more than she thought. 

“Your timing is awful, Morgan.” Emily stares at the gauze wrapped around her arm as the ache in her body starts to set in. It’s inevitable, considering the fact she was t-boned by a truck mere hours before. She’s going to be in _pain_ later on. “You do know I have a concussion, right? My head is pounding.”

Not to mention, Dale Schrader is still missing, it’s the middle of the night, and no one is getting any sleep anytime soon.

“I know. But …” he trails off, glancing over at her, as if he regrets bringing it up in the first place. “How are you holding up with all of this?” It’s one of the first times someone has asked _her_ that, and she isn’t quite sure how to answer. None of this is _about_ her, but at the same time it is, a ridiculously complicated web of history.

“I’m alright. I think we’re all coping the best we can with everything.” 

“You’re right about that. But you could have told me, Prentiss.” He looks a little dejected, disappointed, maybe even annoyed at himself for not figuring it out sooner. 

“And said what? Hey, Morgan. I used to sleep with Hotch years ago when he worked for my mother, but now he’s my boss _and_ his marriage fell apart, but we’re together again ? Sure. That would have gone over real well.” 

“Maybe not that bluntly,” Morgan says with a slight chuckle, turning off the highway in the direction of the police station. “But you could have said _something._ ” 

“You say that now,” Emily murmurs, sighing heavily. “But it would only have complicated things. It just never felt like the right time.” 

Derek nods, not necessarily in disagreement. “Prentiss, I don’t think you give us enough credit.” 

“Maybe not,” she says quietly, picking at the gauze she’d been specifically told not to touch. “Can we talk about this later? I really … I just want to get back.” Her head is still aching, the soreness is only getting worse. “We need to find this guy, Morgan.”

"It wouldn’t hurt to trust people a little more, you know. I’m your friend. Who you decide to sleep with isn’t going to change that, you know. Even if it is our boss.” 

She snorts inelegantly, a small smile creeping onto her face. “Just hurry the hell up and get us back in one piece, okay?” 

**...**

It’s not the first time they have to start over. In the wake of Haley’s death, it’s one more beginning for them both, somewhere between a series of women being abducted in Atlantic City and a serial killer in Rhode Island. It’s also the first time they haven’t had to hide behind at least one closed door. It’s a change, at times unfamiliar for them both, but it’s perhaps the most _normal_ they’ve ever been able to be after all this time.

“When are you going to tell Jack?” Emily asks from behind the shower curtain one morning in his apartment bathroom as she wraps a towel around her head. Aaron is at the counter, his hair stuck up in multiple directions, his chest bare. His scars have faded a bit more, but she knows where to find them. She’ll never _not_ know.

It’s also not the first (or fifth) time she’s stayed over with Jack in the apartment, but it feels different now. He’s becoming accustomed to Emily’s almost constant presence - asking her to play or draw, showing her his action figures and toys with an excitement in his eyes. While he’s still too young to understand all of it, he’s still a six year old child grieving his mother’s death. He deserves an explanation as to why his father’s apartment is being shared by a third person the vast majority of the time.

“I thought I’d talk to him after breakfast.” Aaron dries his hands on a towel, eyeing Emily appreciatively as she steps out of the shower, reaching for the robe on the hook. “Or we could do it together?” He seems to want her opinion, so she gives it without hesitation. 

“It should be the two of you.” She ties the robe in a knot. “I want him to hear it from you first.” 

“He loves you, Emily. You know that, right?” Aaron snakes his arms around her waist, resting his head on her shoulder as he stares at their reflections in the foggy mirror. 

“I know he does. But this is a conversation for the two of you to have together.” She turns her head to the side to kiss him, feeling the most at peace she has in a very long time. Maybe after all this time, this is how it’s _supposed_ to be. 

“Where are you going, Emiwy?” Jack asks a little while later when she stands to go, putting her plate in the dishwasher. His hands sticky with syrup from his waffles - he’s already had two - and he looks almost _sad_ when he realizes she’s about to leave, her jacket on and bag over her arm.

“I have to get going,” she says, leaning down to give him a quick hug and a reassuring smile. “I have some things to do at my house today, Jack. But I think your dad has a really fun day planned for you. You’ll have to tell me about it next time I see you. Okay?” 

“Okay.” He seems to accept that answer, and waves vigorously in her direction, sending his fork to the ground as Emily meets Aaron’s eyes with a brief, but knowing smile. As she slips out the front door, there’s the sound of his voice lingering in the background, gentle and calm. 

“Jack, there’s something I need to talk to you about.” 

“What is it, Daddy?”

She smiles the rest of the way down to her car, and the whole way home, too. 

...

Aaron knows the second she pulls the little girl into her arms instinctively, shielding her eyes and ears from the inevitable, where he’ll find her later that night. It’s the way she fiercely protects Jody in the moments before _and_ after the gun fires, the pain he sees in her eyes when she’s taken into a foster home for the night, that tells him just how much the past still comes back to haunt her sometimes. 

At the hotel in New Mexico, his guess is confirmed. She’s still wearing the clothes from earlier that day, two empty glasses in front of her, along with an ashtray littered with a few cigarette butts. The remnants of liquid in the glass tell him she’s drinking scotch. She’d barely touched her food at dinner, and said less than three words to him all night. And while part of him wants to give her the space she so desperately needs, the fact that she continues to ignore him tells him he’s right where he needs to be.

“You should be sleeping,” she says when she can’t ignore him any longer. Her eyes never leave the glass in front of her. Emily doesn’t dare look at him. It’s obvious why he’s here. He’d seen the look in her eyes. There’s no way he could have missed it. 

“You should take your own advice,” he retorts, reaching for her hand only to have her pull it away. 

“Everyone else is asleep, I take it?” 

“For a while now, I think.” Aaron takes the cigarette from her hand, stubbing it out in the ashtray. She tries to glare at him, but fails, her lip trembling ever so slightly. 

“I had a feeling you’d find me.” She doesn’t bother to fix the piece of hair that’s fallen, shielding her face from his. “You know me too well by now.” 

“Let’s get you upstairs,” he says softly, taking a step closer, as if she’ll slip right off the barstool. “We can go to your room. You should lay down.”

“I’m not _drunk,_ Aaron,” Emily snaps when his hand goes to the small of her back. And maybe she isn’t, but she’s certainly not in a good frame of mind, either. 

“I never said you were,” He says, overwhelmingly patient, steadying her when her legs buckle as she stands. 

Emily says nothing the entire way up to the room, his hand never leaving her back as they walk. Once inside, she ducks away from him and pours herself a glass of red wine from the bottle that’s sitting on the table. He’s not entirely sure where it came from; he’s not sure he even wants to know, but it’s already been opened. She holds it to her lips, hardly taking a sip. Instead, she leans against the wall, her head tipping back, closing her eyes. 

“Emily.” Aaron’s voice is soft, an offering of comfort but also a quiet plea. “Please talk to me.” 

She stares into the glass, then at him briefly. “He’d be about her age right now, you know. Jody, I mean.” Her fingers tighten on the glass, the dark red liquid sloshing around. She makes no move to drink it. In fact, she looks almost repulsed by it. 

_He._ The conversation from so long ago, in the darkened DC bar, replays in his mind like an old broken record. It’s a night he’s tried for years to forget. The night he saw her break into pieces, pieces that never completely fit together the same again.

“I think I told you once before … I always thought he was a he,” she adds with a sad smile when she sees his morose expression. “A mini you, but hopefully with my sense of humor.” She makes a noise that sounds like an attempt at a laugh. “I guess we’ll never know.” She paces, one step forward then two steps back. “Maybe it’s better that way.” 

His stomach clenches. “We’ve never talked about this, you know.” He keeps his distance, giving her space. “At least not like we should have.” 

“What’s there to talk about? It’s been years, Aaron. It’s not like we can change anything now. It’s water under the bridge at this point.” 

“Yet it still haunts you, doesn’t it?” His tone isn’t unkind, but it’s honest and unflinching, an accurate assessment of what she keeps so hidden and buried. 

“Some days.” Her answer is brief, but the pain is there. “A lot more lately.” It’s a bitter reminder that despite all they’ve worked for, they may never be able to have it all in the end.

He nods, raking a hand over his face. “Emily,” he says, his own voice already raw. “When did this … when?” 

She closes her eyes briefly then opens them, meeting his insistent stare. “The day after you told me you were seeing Haley.” She’s always wanted to spare him that one small detail, but it feels wrong to lie to him about it.

He _has_ to know now, his ears ringing as he tries to fathom just what she went through. “What happened?”

She shakes her head, unwilling to go back to that day. It’s one of several she remembers in perfect detail, every last miserable second. “No, Aaron. It’s not … you shouldn’t have to hear any of that. Be glad you weren’t there.” 

“Please tell me.” 

“I can’t.” She fumbles with the wine glass in her hands, and it crashes to the floor and shatters into pieces. The red wine bleeds over the shards and all she can do is stare, for the imagery behind it is haunting. 

A moment of silence passes between them until she draws in a ragged breath. “It was awful. I thought I was going to bleed until I had nothing left.” She sinks down to the ground, her back against the wall, and all he can do is come and sit beside her, gradually closing the gap between them. “It felt like my own body betrayed me. I sat there in my apartment and wondered if it would ever stop.” 

“You were alone?” He chokes on the words, the image of her by herself, bleeding onto a cold floor, too much to bear. 

“Allison came.” She pulls her knees to her chest. “She stayed with me at the hospital. Through all of it.”

Aaron does his best to hide the grimace on his own face. The clandestine meeting he’d had with Allison in that coffee shop, the desperate phone call before that, makes perfect sense now. If only he’d read between the lines and pushed a little more, maybe it would have been slightly less unbearable for her. But things were so different then. “Emily,” he begins, reaching for her limp hand. 

“There’s more,” she adds, sounding completely detached and incomprehensibly empty. “The chances of me... being able to … get pregnant again, successfully, are slim to none.” She seems to wither into herself even more, her legs curling tighter into her chest. “Not impossible, but, it doesn’t seem very likely.” She stares at the shattered glass on the floor. “So … if you … ever had the thought of … you might want to walk away now.” A single tear falls from her eye, then another. Both are quickly brushed away before she turns to look at him again. 

“I wouldn’t do that, Emily.” Aaron squeezes her hand, knowing there’s little he can say or do to comfort her at this point. “What may or may not be able to happen doesn’t change anything.” 

“They said something about options,” Emily attempts to sound brave, studying his face carefully. “If I ever wanted to go that route. It’s not a guarantee, but … it’s something.” 

“Then we’ll talk about those options, when the time comes.” He pulls her into his arms without hesitation, rocking her back and forth with a soothing kiss on the temple. “If that’s what you want.” They’ve never even remotely discussed any of this, but his firm assurance seals a few of the cracks in her heart. 

“I don’t know if I even want to try.” She stares at her knees. “I can’t go through that again, Aaron.” 

“I know,” he kisses her again, lingering a little longer this time. “But I’ll be with you, whatever may come.” 

Emily relaxes into him for the first time all night, resting her head on his shoulder. “Even if -”

“I love you,” he says simply. “And I always have. So yes, even if things turns out the way I know you’re thinking, because you can’t help yourself, then that’s enough for me.” He offers her a hand, pulling them both to their feet with ease. “ _You_ will always be enough for me, Emily.” 

Blushing fiercely, Emily wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her body into his. “I love you too, Aaron. I’m sorry for never telling you the truth. I should have -”

Aaron shushes her, cups his hands around her chin when he kisses her again. “ _I’m_ sorry I wasn’t there that night. I should have been. God, Emily, I’m so sorry.” He presses his forehead against hers, and for the first time all night, she sees a few tears glisten in his own eyes. 

Later on, after a hot shower that makes her feel human again, he lays her down, his body spreading out over hers. It’s reverent, almost protective, and she sighs with pleasure when his head dips down between her legs, bringing each over his shoulders. He takes his time, a slow build that keeps her on edge for a while, pushing her just close enough only to pull back, marveling at the way she bows under his touch. He knows what she can handle, and enjoys watching her body respond to him. Only when she cries out his name for the third time, practically begging at this point, does he give in with one well-timed press of his tongue and the insistent push of his fingers. 

Aaron kisses her until she comes back down, a gentle hand on one hip and the other wrapped around her back, holding her close enough to him to feel her beating heart against his. Emily gets the upper hand, sliding a leg around his hips and straddles his waist. Her body rises up over his as she sinks down slowly, until she can’t go any further, and the little whimper from the back of her throat tells him this, too. His hands hold her hips, carefully, rocking her back and forth as she adjusts, her own hands coming to brace against his chest. 

It’s a slow pace she sets, intense but not overly so, her body rocking above his. He encourages her, telling her she’s beautiful, and lets her take what she needs in those given moments. Her hair falls over her shoulders as her head tips back, and when he increases the pace, it takes hardly any time at all until she breaks apart again, keening his name in his ear. It takes him over the edge shortly after, and he pulls her down onto him, wrapping his arms around her to feel her heart against his once more.

“I could do this every day.” Aaron kisses her, tucking the blankets around them both, after he’s gotten her water from the bathroom and an extra pillow from the closet. “I’ll never tire of you, you know.” 

“Me too,” she breathes against him, her eyelids already starting to flutter closed when she’s safely wrapped in his embrace. “If I have to be stuck with anyone, I’m glad it’s with you.”

He falls asleep, with three words on his lips, a smile on his face and Emily in his arms. 

What they don’t know then is it won’t be like this forever, or even that much longer at all. 

**...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for chapter 42 coming soon <3


	42. Forty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blissful happiness that’s been blooming slowly in her chest, bit by precious bit, for the last few months, along with the illusion of safety, shatters at her feet in a million pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 42, friends. We’re getting closer to the end with each update, so … oof I’m getting emotional thinking about it. I am so sorry for the delay in update - I didn’t think this one would take so long, but life got in the way a little bit. Thank you so very much for all the love on 41 - I was blown away by your kind words here and on Tumblr. You all know how to make me smile. Let me know what you think - I love hearing from you all : )   
> A special thank you to AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell for looking this over throughout the week, and all of your kind words along the way : )

**Chapter 42: The Space Between**

_ The space between where you smile and hide is where you'll find me if I get to go _

_ The space between the bullets in our firefight is where I'll be hiding waiting for you _

_ The space between our wicked lies is where we hope to keep safe from pain _

She wakes up one morning, her head against his chest. It’s early, the sky still a darkish blue-grey. What they can’t see are the thick clouds forming in the distance, bringing rain and thunder that will no doubt open the skies before breakfast is even ready. But her eyes drift open for a brief moment, and she shifts in his arms, just enough that he wakes up too. Aaron’s eyes don’t even fully open before he kisses her, wherever he can reach. “Hi,” he murmurs, bringing a hand to her back. “Are you awake?” 

“Mmhm. Sadly. Wanted to sleep longer.” She stretches, her body going taut against his, and Aaron uses it as an opportunity to roll her on top of him, bringing her up to straddle his waist. Emily groans at the sudden change in position and the rush of cool air that greets her almost bare skin. Her hips twitch when his hands slide to her waist and further, brushing her nipples with his thumbs.

“What time is it?” He pinches her nipples between his fingers, then captures one in his lips, smoothing his tongue over it. 

“Close to 6.” Her head falls back ever so slightly, her body starting to respond to his gentle touches. “We have some time.” A glance at the clock confirms what she hopes is true. Jack doesn’t need to be awake until 7. “ _ Aaron.”  _ His name falls from her lips like a whisper of a ghost when his hand dips down, slipping a finger inside of her. 

“Let’s make the most of it then,” Aaron says, cupping her cheek with his other free hand, and her breath hitches a little when his thumb finds her clit, moving in the softest circle. “The things I could do to you in an hour.” 

“Show me.” Emily arches her back, the slightest whimper coming from her throat when he adds another finger, her hips bucking into his hand. The sound of his voice, low and deep in her ear, makes her heart flutter with a mix of anticipation and need.

“I plan on it.” Sometimes it amazes him it’s been so long, yet, sometimes it feels like yesterday since the first morning in that hotel room in New York, all those years ago. “I love you,” he adds, adding one more flick of his thumb before sliding his hands under her arms to bring her down into his embrace. “I don’t think you know how much.” 

“Oh, I know,” she says with a smile, her eyes warm in the low morning light, her hair forming a sheet around them. “And I love you, too.” 

Aaron deftly flips them over, brings his mouth to her neck, his teeth nipping at the skin underneath her ear. His fingers trail down her stomach and between her legs again, smiling when her hips arch into him like he expected they would. 

She pushes her hips into him again, as if asking him for more, but he ignores her. “Do you remember,” he murmurs into the shell of her ear, “that first morning in New York?” He remembers. He remembers all of her; there’s little he’s actually forgotten over the years. Their years, both together and apart, run through his mind in perfect recollection.

Emily’s head rolls on the pillow, her eyes starting to glaze as a laugh escapes, because she too remembers it, just as well as he does. “I remember you wore me out.” If she’s not mistaken, she wore bruises on her hips for a few days after that. “Do that again.” 

“Planning on it.” He’s kissing her neck, a series of soft pecks, sweet and tender, a complete juxtaposition from the intense focus she sees in his eyes, completely immersed in her beneath him. 

She sighs and enjoys the gentle drift of his lips, taking his time to explore and tease. But then he takes her by surprise, pinning her down and kissing her fervently, biting down on her lip until she moans into his mouth. 

“Aaron what - “ She manages barely, when he gives her a moment to breathe. She shifts beneath him, an attempt to get the upper hand but he just stares up at her reverently while holding her still, his hair falling into his face.

“Don’t move,” Aaron rasps, getting his hands under her thighs and pulling her down the mattress until she has absolutely no leverage against him. Her hands tighten in the sheets when his mouth finds her inner thigh, teeth scraping against the skin there. It catches her off guard even though it shouldn’t, but the air is sucked out of her lungs when he moves just a few centimeters **,** his nose brushing her clit, followed by the quick push of his tongue inside of her. Her hands fly to his hair, pulling and threading through. She lets out a long moan, only to do it again when his lips close around her clit, punctuated by the press of his fingers inside of her, pumping a few times until she rocks her hips against his face. Her nails press into his shoulder as he works her higher with ease, completely focused on one thing - making her scream. 

And a few moments later, she does just that - into a pillow, because they aren’t the only ones in his apartment this time. When she opens her eyes, Aaron is moving back to the head of the bed, kissing her stomach on his way, looking proud of himself, as he watches her take a few deep, steadying breaths. 

He gives her hardly any time to recover **,** coming to cover her body with his own **,** pushing his hips forward, sliding into her. The unchecked groan that escapes from him matches hers as she adjusts, her eyes closing at the familiar ache as they become one. Emily all but wraps herself around him, legs tightening around his hips to keep him as close as she can, her arms around his neck. Her heart flutters in her chest; the safety in which she feels with him like this is something they’ve worked for in words and actions over time. It’s not something she takes for granted, or ever will. 

“Em,” he whispers, pulling her from her own mind. “Emily.” Her name rolls off his lips, and he shudders, his own eyes closing for a second. Her hand cups his face, his cheek rough from the shadow of stubble that’s formed since yesterday morning.

“Slow,” she whispers into his ear, arching her back up to press into his chest.

“I thought you wanted to be worn out,” he quips, teasing her with a quick thrust of his hips, a reminder of what he’d promised just a few minutes earlier. 

**“** Maybe later.” She smiles, brings both hands to his face, kissing him again, a quiet whimper into his mouth. She wants to savor him, for sometimes she’s reminded of just how much they’ve been through, how far they’ve come.

He seems to appreciate that answer, and begins to rock into her, each push of his hips slow and deliberate and full, almost patient as he cradles her against him with one arm around her back. “Is this what you need, sweetheart? Like this?” He’s moving so slowly she can feel every inch of him each time he moves, a rhythm that builds, each of his movements sending her closer to that edge for the second time. “I can tell you’re close, aren’t you? You should see how beautiful you look like this.” 

She just sighs with a blissful nod, tilting her hips up to meet his in a practiced way that only years of experience can bring, linking their hands together and bringing them above her head. “Aaron,” she whispers between his kisses as the pace of his movements intensifies, because he’s just as ready as she is.  _ So much for slow _ . “I’m going to -” 

He can’t even answer because he tips over the edge with one squeeze of her around him and she follows suit. He’s holding her so tightly she can barely breathe, his voice coaxing the last of her own climax out of her, drawing it out with a final push of his hips, reaching his hand down to stroke her through her own release.

It’s barely six thirty; their day is just getting started yet she’s exhausted again. Aaron murmurs something about closing her eyes, because it’ll be a long day for them both. Emily dozes off in his arms, her back against his chest, the peaceful warmth of his bed like a sanctuary before the rush of their daily races. The quiet moments don’t happen very often, and as she hovers between a dream and consciousness, Aaron’s voice shakes her from her sleepy reverie. “You might want to get in the shower soon,” he murmurs. “Maybe I’ll join you.” 

“We might never get out of here then,” she says, perfectly still in his arms. “Last time we tried that you -” 

“Daddy?” The small voice from the hallway is one she’d know anywhere now, and from behind her, Aaron sighs, instinctively tucking the blanket around Emily’s shoulder. He drops a quick kiss on a part of her skin that remains visible. 

“Daddy?” Jack is a little more insistent this time, and the knob starts to turn. “Where are you?” 

“I’ll be right there, Jack,” Aaron says, grappling on the floor for whatever articles of clothing he can find, cursing under his breath. “Give me one minute.” 

“Hurry up, Daddy,” he demands impatiently, clearly not willing to wait any longer. With a last longing look at Emily, Aaron pulls on the sweatpants he’d abandoned earlier that morning and gets a shirt over his head before carefully cracking the door open. 

“What is it buddy?” 

“Daddy, come now. I can’t find my Buzz Lightyear. He ran away in the middle of the night.” Jack sounds so solemn and serious, and all but pulls Aaron right through the door. He doesn’t even notice Emily’s curled up form in his bed, or the apologetic look Aaron tosses back to her before disappearing down the hall.

**...**

“You’re quiet this morning.” It’s a thinly veiled statement hiding the questions he doesn’t want to ask. A gentle probe at why she’s hardly said anything since he’d gone to tend to Jack soon after they’d woken up again. That was over an hour ago. Since then she’d showered and dressed, made coffee, and is now cleaning up the remains of breakfast, her sleeves rolled to her elbows. 

“I have an appointment today,” Emily says quietly, neatly arranging a few plates into the dishwasher. “With my doctor.” 

His head snaps up from his newspaper, clearly taken aback at what she’s just said, not needing any further explanation. “Since when?” He fully remembers what she said in New Mexico, about  _ their options _ . He just didn’t expect it to be so soon. 

“I made it last week.” She doesn’t look at him, just busies herself wiping up the counter, neatening up the mess left behind from earlier. 

“Already?” He pauses, a look of surprise ghosting over his face. “Are you actually thinking about -” 

“It’s the first step, Aaron.” She wipes her hands, avoids his questioning stare. “Just to … check on some things. It’s been awhile,” she adds, pushing some hair behind her ear with her wrist. “It’s nothing but a starting point.” 

“You didn’t tell me.” 

“I didn’t think there was a reason to.”  _ Of course she could have told him, had debated it, ultimately deciding against it.  _

“Do you want me to go with you?” He looks confused, which isn’t surprising. She avoided telling him for this very reason. She  _ knew _ he’d be concerned immediately, which is exactly what she can’t deal with quite yet. 

“No,” she says immediately, and his confusion turns to a frown, his jaw flexing. 

“Are you sure? I can rearrange a few things today.”

“Yes, Aaron,” she says firmly. “Please don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Nothing I haven’t been through before.” She reaches for his nearly empty coffee mug and finishes the last sip. 

Her words make his throat tighten with regret. “Take the rest of the afternoon off,” he urges calmly, his eyes shifting to the hallway in the direction of Jack’s bedroom door as he lowers his voice just a notch. “We can manage without you.” 

Emily rolls her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll be in later.” She closes the dishwasher with a slam, something else coming to mind. “And I know I don’t have to say this, but don’t -.” 

He sighs heavily. “Come on, Emily. You know I wouldn’t do that.” Even after all this time, there are still shadows of doubt from time to time that come roaring back on a schedule he can’t predict. And each time it happens, it’s a reminder of everything he’s had to earn back, and the way they still have to go. 

“I know.” She leans in to kiss him, a quick peck on the cheek, only to have Aaron cup his hand around the back of her head, pressing his lips to hers and deepening their kiss.

“What was that for?” She asks when he finally releases his hold, her cheeks a shade darker and her eyes a little brighter. 

“Because I love you,” he says simply, touching his forehead to hers. “Call me … if you change your mind, and I’ll meet you there.” 

She smiles, kisses him once more. “I love you too, Aaron. And don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” 

**…**

She’s thankful the rest of the team seem to be relatively preoccupied when she walks into the BAU a few hours later. JJ is nowhere to be found, but Emily sees her office door is closed, as is Rossi’s. Reid barely looks up from his desk, only Morgan gives a friendly wave before returning to his own work in front of him. She’s glad she went with a long sleeve shirt; it’ll hide the rapidly forming bruise in her elbow from the blood draw. She’s barely seated at her desk for five minutes when Aaron is suddenly beside her, having clearly watched her come in. 

“We’re going to San Francisco tomorrow.” He sits against the edge of her desk, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

“We are?” She doesn’t bother to look up from the mountain of paperwork that’s accumulated on her desk in the few hours she’s been gone. “What’s the case?” 

“A body was found in Presidio Park. There’s a pattern with some similar murders over the last couple of years.” 

“That’s all you have?” Emily lifts an eyebrow, silently judging his reticence. “Does JJ know about this?”

“Sam Cooper called me today. I’m going to talk to him right now … to get more details.” He perches on the desk beside her, lowering his voice. “I have a feeling Strauss won’t be on board with this one.” 

“So you’re bypassing JJ completely,” Emily says thoughtfully when she finally meets his gaze.

“I think it’s worth hearing what Sam has to say. He’s been looking into it for awhile. Said he has a theory.”

“So go talk to him.” She shrugs. “We can keep things afloat here for a while.”

“I was waiting for you to get back before I left.” He eyes her expectantly, as if for her to speak first. He doesn’t ask any questions, but he doesn’t have to. She knows him well enough by now to know exactly what’s running through his mind, and what he wants to ask. 

“We’ll talk about it later,” Emily says firmly, her tone an immediate shutdown of any possible conversation. “Not here.” 

He opens his mouth only to be quickly cut off with a wave of her hand.

“No, Aaron.” She brushes him off, turning back to the work in front of her, signalling the end of the conversation. She’s thankful for the distraction. “Go talk to Cooper. Find me later.” 

**...**

“So are you going to tell me how it went?” He says over the phone later that night when they’re both packing for the trip to San Francisco, in their own separate apartments for the first time that week. Her own feels foreign at this point, which is a separate issue entirely, one she isn’t quite ready to think about. “Your appointment today?” 

“It went well. I told you. It was routine. We’re going to keep an eye on some things. I’m going back in a couple of months for a follow up. And talk about next steps if we need to.” She rolls her eyes even though he can’t see her, doing her best to keep her tone even. “Please promise me you’re not going to bring this up every day now.” 

There’s a pause on the other end, and she can almost see his face as he considers his next words. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Just one?” 

“Just one. And then I won’t bring it up again.” He sounds tired on the other line, and she can hear Jack in the background, complaining about bedtime, asking about monsters in the closet.  _ Sounds about right _ , she thinks.

It’s her turn to pause this time. “Go ahead.”

“Would you tell me if it hadn’t gone well?” 

The honesty catches her off guard, some clothes slipping out of her hands, rendering her silent for a few moments. “Eventually,” she mumbles, grateful he can’t see her face.

“That’s what I thought.” 

Less than twelve hours later, they’re on their way to California. 

**...**

Despite the praises Cooper sings about him, Aaron isn’t a huge fan of Mick Rawson. Maybe it’s his cocky attitude, or the fact that he and Emily hit it off together almost immediately. In fact, they strike up an easy conversation mere seconds after being introduced, bantering back and forth. He’s not jealous, of course not, but he doesn’t trust him at all. Yet there’s something about this case that tells him he just might have to do just that. 

But Emily is on the top of her game in California, and Mick _is_ one of the best Sam Cooper has ever worked with, after all. It makes sense they work well together. In fact, they’re the ones who make the connections between the victims that gives them a break in their puzzling case. There’s not much time to think about the fraternization between the two of them, because the clock is already ticking, and Strauss is breathing down their necks. 

Much to _her_ surprise, partnering with Mick turns out better than she expected it would. Once Emily gets past his overwhelming arrogance, he isn’t all that bad, actually. In fact, she finds him entertaining in a mysterious, charming kind of way, clearly with a past of his own that might just mirror her own. It’s clear right away he’s a risk taker, something that might not go over well with most. Emily deliberately but gently rejects each of his advances, despite his persistence, which is clearly something he’s not used to. 

Of course, Aaron is less than thrilled about all of it. “I just don’t like him,” He tells her when they’re laying in bed later, having spent most of the evening running around the Tenderloin District without much success. “I don’t trust him either.”

“Cooper does,” Emily says smoothly, threading her fingers through the hair on his chest. “That should mean something to you. He’s really not  _ that _ bad, you know. Rash, yes. Cocky, yes. But he knows what he’s doing. Maybe give him a chance.” 

“I sure as hell hope so.” 

“I’m not going to  _ sleep _ with him, Aaron, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Emily rolls her eyes, playfully slapping his shoulder. “That’s why I have you.” She laughs lightly, amusement playing across her face. 

“You mean that’s all I’m good for?” He feigns offense, propping himself up on an elbow, smoothing a hand over her bare hip underneath the sheet tossed loosely over them both. “I’m hurt.” 

“That and other things,” she says casually, dropping a quick kiss on his cheek before flipping off the light on the nightstand, snuggling into his chest with a satisfied grin. “Don’t worry so much. I’ll be fine.”

**…**

Mick turns out to be the sole reason she doesn’t end up with a bullet in her forehead **.**

He doesn’t hear the specifics of what went down on the roof until much later, after things have settled down. He’s glad, because according to what’s said (and what isn’t), it was a  _ very _ close call, a snap decision on his end that came at the nick of time. Aaron can’t be anything less than grateful, even if he wants to wipe the satisfied look off of Mick’s face during their debrief, because he’s clearly very pleased with himself. But instead, he does the very opposite, discreetly pulling him aside once everyone else has dissipated, going their separate ways.

Someone suggests celebrating after the case closes. It’s not what they normally do, but this one is different, and it sounds like a good idea. They gather in an empty warehouse with a huge cooler full of drinks that never seems to empty. There’s music - in his opinion, a little too loud, since a headache is starting to nag in the space behind his eyes - but the gathering itself is light and casual, and everyone looks to be having a good time. Only after he arrives, a little bit later than the rest of the team, does he realize Emily is brushing past him, a bottle in each hand. He doesn't have to ask to know exactly who the other bottle is for. 

“You know, I could have just missed,” Aaron overhears Mick say, watching as Emily clinks the neck of her beer bottle against his with a smirk that matches his. 

“With your ego? Not a chance.” She looks tired, he notices that right away, but she’s safe, only a few feet away from him, and even if she’s a few inches too close to Mick, that’s all that  _ fucking _ matters at this point.

But it’s the thinly veiled relief in his voice that tells her just how lucky she got today. He beckons for her to come closer. “I didn’t peg you as the one who’d be fucking your boss, you know.” He takes a sip of his beer, lowering his voice just enough so only she can hear. “Have to say, you surprised me there.” 

It takes her by such surprise, beer almost comes right out of her nose. “I beg your pardon?” She sputters a little, swiping at her mouth with the back of her hand less than gracefully. 

“What would he say if he heard you denying it?”

“I think you -” 

“You know,” he says, his eyes spanning the group of agents laughing and talking. “I can’t say i’m not disappointed. I was planning on taking you home later on tonight. Turns out my hopes were dashed.” 

Emily stares at him, slack jawed. It’s definitely  _ not _ a secret amongst their team anymore, but it’s also not something they’re publicly displaying, especially not here in front of a group of relative strangers. That being said, she can’t help but laugh, because she’s not one bit surprised by his intentions. “Is that your standard way of doing things, Mick?” 

“Usually.” He gestures to Aaron, who by now at least a few steps closer to the cooler full of drinks **.** “But … you’re clearly spoken for.” 

“Did he tell you that?” 

“He didn’t have to. It was obvious, when he thanked me for saving your life earlier.” And then he taps his empty bottle against hers one last time, winking on his way for another.

Emily’s gaze follows him for a few moments before looking away, in search of something else. From across the room, Aaron’s eyes meet hers and close briefly before he opens them again, his face full of something she recognizes instantly. 

Relief.

**...**

“What did Strauss say when you talked to her?” Emily asks when they’re finally alone a few hours later. Whatever buzz they’d felt from the beers is starting to fade, now it’s just exhaustion threatening to take over. 

“She’s not pleased, but I think she’ll get over it.” Aaron fluffs the pillow behind his head, crossing his ankles under the sheets. He’s been relatively quiet most of the evening, and she knows why.

“I heard about what you said to Mick.” She’s laying next to him, hands folded across her stomach, staring at the ceiling. 

“Before or after he told you he planned on taking you home with him?” 

“After.” Emily makes a face at him, a wry grin stretching across her face. “How did you know?”

He says nothing, only puts his hand over hers. “I was wrong about him.” 

“You do owe him one, you know.” Emily scoots closer, resting her head on his chest and sighing softly when his arm comes up around her shoulder. “Today could have been - “ Her tone is impressively casual, for talking about her own brush with mortality. “Pretty bad.” 

“Stop,” he says sharply, cupping her chin in his hand, his grip a little more forceful than usual. He knows where she’s going with this, and as grateful as he is for how the day turned out, he can’t stop thinking about what  _ could _ have been the reality. “Just stop talking.” 

“Only if you stop thinking about it,” she whispers, low into his ear. Then she pushes his shoulders down, swinging a leg over his waist to straddle his lap. “You’re still stuck with me, Aaron.” 

He’s not complaining. Not even a little bit. 

**...**

Alaska takes a lot out of them all. It’s cold, Garcia is a mess (they honestly can’t blame her given what happened), and they’re feeling the effects of some pretty tough cases and nonstop travel even before landing in the small, remote town completely surrounded by water. The tiny plane makes JJ noticeably queasy, Dave is cranky, and Reid just looks cold the whole time.

He fucks her senseless in Alaska. Maybe it’s the cold, the stress, or the reclusive town. Maybe it’s the surprisingly quaint bed and breakfast lodge they’re staying at. Or, maybe it’s the fact they end up sharing a room, which doesn’t happen often, even if what they’re doing is anything but a secret anymore. Dave makes a few wisecrack comments as the owner passes over a single key to the both of them, also wearing a smirk of her own. 

“See you in the morning,” Dave jokes good naturedly, making a show of letting them pass him in the hallway. He’s not complaining in the slightest about  _ his _ room situation either- a whole one to himself - as he shoulders his bag with a smirk. “I’ll send a search party if the two of you don’t show up tomorrow on time.” 

As they walk the fifty-some steps to their room, Aaron checks and double checks the alarm on his phone, just to be safe. He laughs inwardly as he catches Emily doing the same.

He fumbles uncharacteristically with every button, snap, and zipper on her clothes - she’s wearing too many layers - which he tells her, yanking her shirt over her head as the seams nearly rip apart. 

“We’re in Alaska, Aaron,” Emily purrs into his ear when his hands finally hit the back of her bra strap, flicking it open with a skilled hand. “It’s not exactly warm here, you know, and I don’t want to freeze.” 

But he pushes her onto her back on the bed, bringing his head down between her legs. She can’t stop moving, her hips undulating beneath him even though he’s barely even kissed her yet. She needs to feel him somehow, because the stress from all of this is finally getting to her, in need of a release. She grabs at his shoulders, pushes her fingers into his hair as he teases her, pulls him closer with a hand around the back of his head. 

Hold still, damnit,” he growls from his place at the side of the bed, dragging her down further. He pins her hips down with one hand and wraps his other hand around her leg, his fingers digging into her knee as he trails kisses across her lower stomach, torturously making her wait for more until she settles down.

“Hurry the fuck up, Aaron,” Emily’s head falls back on the pillows. The impatience in her voice tells him it won’t be long until she’s screaming his name, but he wants to drag it out, make her wait until she can’t any longer. There’s nothing he enjoys more than watching her unravel. She’s ready for him, he can tell, but he’s in no rush. 

“Ask nicely,” he says, kissing her inner thigh, leaving a little mark with his teeth. Lately she’s covered in those little marks, all from him, on different parts of her body. They’re little pieces of him, a reminder at any given moment of how much he  _ loves _ her. Aaron pays equal attention to the other leg, using just the tip of one of his fingers to circle her clit **,** the stutter of her hips telling him she’s getting even more impatient. 

“Aaron,” she gasps, whimpering, and he smiles, because even the slightest touch elicits that reaction. “ _ Please _ .” 

“That’s my girl. **”** And _then_ he puts his mouth on her, licking and sucking like he can’t get enough of her. Emily cants her hips and whines at the contact, because words won’t form in her throat. She’s already shaking, her legs trembling under his hands, the ones that hold her legs apart. “Come on, sweetheart,” he encourages her, resting his chin on her for a few seconds, giving her a moment of reprieve as he looks up at her, eyes hooded, her body flushed and waiting. “Come for me.” It’s the sound of his voice and a few circles with his thumb that send her over the first time. The intensity of it renders her almost silent with a hushed whimper, her body trembling as she rides it out. He watches her with fascination as the muscles in her legs twitch, her arm thrown over her face, her back lifting right off the bed. It’s a view he’ll never get tired of. 

“Get on your knees.” He helps her up because she’s still recovering from before, her legs unsteady. **“** Like this.” He fits himself behind her, anchoring an arm across her waist to keep her upright, her back pressed against his chest. When he slips inside of her she whimpers, her hips pushing against him as fills her completely. Aaron uses his free hand to pull her hair back, whispering in her ear a string of words about how good she feels, how badly he wants to fuck her, how beautiful she is, rocking her back and forth as she mewls in his ear.

Emily’s already biting her lip when he starts to move at an intense, unforgiving pace, each push of his hips more forceful than the last. He reaches around her hips with his free hand, moving between her legs . She’s clearly close again, judging by the noises she’s making, increasing in volume and frequency, her body tensing and trembling as she clenches around him, 

He hushes her, tightening his grip around her waist, something about thin walls and people sleeping, but she barely hears him, about to break when he thrusts into her, but he’s ready for it. Aaron’s hand covers her mouth, carefully muffling her screams, as Emily clenches around him, her head falling on his shoulder as she’s all but hurled into her second climax, this one tearing through her. It sends him over with her, and he presses his teeth into her neck to silence himself. 

“At least I’m not freezing my ass off anymore,” Emily jokes as she puts a few inches of space between them on the bed, a few moments later. “I have you to thank for that.” Her hair is a mess, her skin slightly damp with sweat, a few bite marks on her neck and hips that will become bruises soon. Despite her disheveled appearance, Aaron is certain she’s never looked more perfect than she does in that very moment. 

“You might be saying something different in a few hours.” Even with the heavy blankets, there is a definite chill in the air, one they’re both not used to. “Come here.” He pats the empty space next to him and Emily shifts back into his arms, sighing when his hand comes up to her back. 

“I love you.” She touches one of the nine scars on his chest, now a healed ridge in his skin that she hasn’t forgotten, but hardly notices anymore. Her fingers find the next one, and the next, until she’s traced over all nine of them, each one getting equal attention. And as she does, his fingertips trace the deep curve of her spine, as if searching for the ones she carries. Her scars are mostly internal, unable to be seen, but by now he knows them all ( _ or so he thinks _ ), having been responsible for a few of them over the years. His touch is like an apology without words, one that comes cycling back every so often. These little moments, the ones where they know exactly what the other is thinking, are an ability to reassure, to think of all that’s ahead of them in the years to come. 

“I want to be with you forever, you know. Grow old with you.” Aaron murmurs, lips brushing hers as he draws her closer. “God, I love you.” 

The smile against his lips is an agreement, and she shivers, telling herself it’s just because of the cold. “Me too. Just anywhere but Alaska.” 

...

Late spring and summer pass with the casual and lazy haze of heat, a near constant threat of afternoon rainstorms, and the days blend together. Allison and Shane welcome their son, a baby boy named Jude in late June. The first time Emily holds him in her arms a few days later, he wraps a tiny hand around one of her fingers, his grasp stronger than she anticipated for a newborn. When he does, she looks at Aaron from where he’s sitting across the room, the look on his face telling her everything she needs to know.

It’s a life he wants with her, one they may be able to have after all, having gotten good news at her last appointment. News that fills her with hope in a way she hasn’t felt in a long time. She stares down at Jude in amazement, then back up at Aaron, a smile grazing her lips. 

...

There’s a two week stretch of summer without a single case. They take Jack to the shore, spending a few glorious days in the sun without as much as a care in the world. They eat water ice on the boardwalk and Emily takes him on the ferris wheel three times in a row without even blinking an eye. Jack squeals with joy, waving to Aaron who is waiting all the way at the bottom, a huge stuffed giraffe under his arm and cotton candy in the other hand. It very well might be some of the happiest days of her life. 

Labor day comes and goes, with nothing more than a quiet reminder that fall is upon them. Fall brings with it a heavy milestone - the one year anniversary of Haley’s death. It’s something they haven’t quite discussed but probably should soon, when the time is right. But when the leaves start to turn, everything feels  _ too _ right. It’s a feeling she can’t quite put a finger on, but it leaves her with a tiny, yet growing, sense of unease. It’s as if soon, everything that’s slowly worked out over time might not be theirs for much longer. 

As it turns out, it isn’t. 

JJ’s departure rocks them all to their core, shattering the foundation the team has built over the years. It’s a shock, but it’s been brewing, because Emily has known there’s something wrong with Aaron for days. Whatever is eating him alive is a problem he undoubtedly can’t solve, and when he recedes into himself, she waits patiently, knowing it’ll eventually be revealed. But when the truth comes out and tearful goodbyes are said after they return from Atlantic Beach, the hollowness she feels in her own chest hurts more than she ever thought it would.

She waits until they’re home, as he’s sitting on her couch with a glass of whiskey in his hand, his eyes on the wall above the television. He looks dejected, worn out, as if he lost a battle he never could win. The FBI is a messy web of politics and bureaucracy, and this is a nagging reminder that in some way, shape or form, they’re all expendable. There’s always someone to fill a position, but no one can truly replace JJ. 

“Aaron, there’s nothing you could have done.” Emily speaks first. “I know it doesn’t make any sense.” 

“She didn’t want to go, you know.” His jaw is set; his hand firm around the glass. 

“I know.” Emily sits beside him, a comforting hand on his knee. She remembers Rossi’s words from earlier. “Our loss is somebody else’s gain.” 

“None of this is right.” He tips the rest of the glass down his throat. “Or fair.” The only thing he sees is the quiet resignation on JJ’s face when they both knew it was all but a done deal. 

“Sometimes, things just aren’t.” 

They both know this, all too well. 

…

The only thing that numbs the pain of JJ’s departure is throwing themselves into work. Her absence leaves a void that will never be filled, yet they carry on without her as best they can. There’s cases in Ohio and the Midwest, Michigan too, and while it never feels  _ quite _ right, all they can do is put one foot in front of the other and do what they’ve always done. 

Halloween brings a beautiful, chilly evening, and as the sun sets, there isn’t even a cloud in the sky. “Are you almost ready?” Aaron asks from his place outside Jack’s closed bedroom door, not for the first time, checking his watch with a frown. “We’re going to be late, Jack.” If they’re lucky, they’ll make it just on time. 

When his door opens, it’s not at all what either of them are expecting at all. Emily has to avert her eyes when she sees Jack’s Halloween costume, having called a last minute audible from the classic Spiderman getup to another superhero - one she knows very well. 

“I’m you, Daddy,” Jack beams with pride as they look him over, taking in the haphazard costume he’d pulled together from his closet along with a few other important pieces along the way, including one of Aaron’s ties. Even though it only loops around his neck and the pants are too long, Emily’s heart cracks in her chest. Looking over at Aaron, she finds him beaming with pride as he wraps his son in his arms, a sweet moment passing between the two of them. 

“Let’s go get some candy, my little G-Man.” 

“Okay!” Jack is more than excited, his face lit with joy, as he scurries off in the opposite direction to get his shoes. Emily turns away, swiping at her eye with a thumb, carefully as to not smear the makeup that took almost forty minutes to apply. 

He’s at her side instantly, a hand on her back. “You okay?” 

“I think the G-man was cutting onions or something,” she retorts quickly, fixing the cat-ear headband in her hair. “But forget Superman. I’d take Aaron Hotchner anyday.” 

Aaron says nothing, just pulls her in for a hug, bringing a hand up to smooth through her hair. 

“Come on Daddy! Emiwy!” Jack’s enthusiasm is what pulls them apart as they exchange a knowing look. It’s about to be a long, tiring night indeed.

...

“Where’s your road soda?” Shane asks as their little group makes its way down the street. He’s pushing the stroller, dressed as Tigger, a tumbler of something undoubtedly alcoholic in his other hand. He looks slightly ridiculous but given that it’s their son’s first Halloween, he and Allison went all out. In the stroller, Jude is a mini Winnie The Pooh, sound asleep and oblivious to all the excitement. 

“A what?” Aaron narrows an eye, shifting Jack’s overstuffed bucket of candy to his other arm while taking his son’s hand. They’ve been at this for almost two hours, the sun is starting to dip in the sky, but Jack hasn’t stopped smiling all evening. And a few feet behind him, Emily and Allison are still deep in conversation with no sign of stopping anytime soon. 

“A road soda. It makes all of this a little more bearable,” Shane jokes as a swarm of kids in masks run past, squealing and shrieking. “You know, when they sound like that.” He dodges another gaggle of kids, making similar noises, while downing half of his cup. 

Aaron laughs, because it’s the fifth pack of kids they’ve encountered on this street alone. “Left mine at home.” 

“They’re having fun, Shane. Don’t be such a buzzkill.” Allison chides her husband gently, rolling her eyes at Emily, who is dressed as a black cat. Dressed as Eeyore, she looks just as ridiculous as Shane, but the joy on her face is evident. “By the way, Emily, Jack looks adorable.” 

“He’s Aaron.” Emily smiles, watching as Jack runs toward another house, dragging Aaron along behind him. “Superman didn’t make the cut this year.” 

“Obviously.” Allison grins. “I’d say Aaron’s a cooler superhero anyway.” 

“I don’t disagree with you,” Emily says with a smile, watching as Jack hurries back to the group with a huge candy bar in his hand, Aaron not far behind. 

...

The one year anniversary of Haley’s death creeps up on them. The day dawns sunny and beautiful, as if Haley is smiling down at them. Emily contemplates giving Aaron and Jack the day to themselves, to mourn and grieve just the two of them. She’s about to leave, shortly after breakfast, when he stops her, a hand on her elbow as she’s gathering her jacket.

“Don’t go,” Aaron says softly, glancing around the quiet apartment. “I … I don’t know how to do this alone.”

Emily nods quietly in agreement, a nervous smile stretched on her face, because she doesn’t exactly know how to do this either. 

They talk about Haley, reminisce, and spend the day mostly outside. Jack watches his favorite videos of birthday parties and soccer games, giggling with a toy tucked under his arm. Aaron talks to him, patiently, reminding him it’s okay to feel sad. Emily watches from a distance for most of the day, but comes across him playing quietly in his room after dinner. Sitting down beside him, she asks if she can play, too. 

“I miss my mommy.” Jack says almost immediately. He moves from coloring to playing with his trucks and action figures, leaving one mess to make another. “I love Daddy, but I miss Mommy too. Do you ever Mommy, Emiwy?” He still struggles with the second syllable of her name, which she can’t help but find endearing. Aaron had briefly mentioned it at a parent teacher conference, mildly relieved when his teacher assured he would grow out of it. 

“We all miss your mommy, Jack.” Emily says quietly, unsure of what else to say, wondering if there’s anything she  _ can _ say. Of course, Jack was blissfully unaware of the past between the three of them. But Haley was his mother, and always will be. 

“Did she forget about me?” He rolls the truck right over Emily’s foot, then pushes it towards her. 

“No, Jack. Your mommy would never forget you. And she’ll always be with you, too.” She pushes the truck back in his direction, placing a hand over her heart. “In here.” 

“What about you, Emiwy? Will you always be wif me too?” 

And when she finally gives him her response, what she doesn’t see is Aaron standing just a few feet behind the door, listening to their every word.

...

Ashley Seaver comes in as a set of fresh eyes for the case in New Mexico. It’s mostly Dave’s doing, but Aaron goes along with it, and Emily can’t help but feel a touch of sympathy for the girl. She’s young, has a lot to learn, but she’s certainly not naive, with years of her own baggage tightly packed away in their own tiny boxes. She’s bold, a risk taker, and it almost gets herself killed before they even get back to Quantico. 

And while what she did was  _ incredibly _ stupid, Emily admires her for it, because a few years ago in Europe, she would have done the same thing. On the flight home, she overhears snippets of the conversation between Ashley and Dave, and some of it is like looking into a mirror of the past.  _ There’s no winning _ , Dave says, and it’s as if he’s talking to her too. The past is the past; sometimes there are no easy answers or fixes.

Emily offers to take Ashley under her wing, because she _understands_. She knows what it’s like to be in over your head from the very beginning, and to have so much to prove to a bunch of strangers. Aaron only nods and signs off on it immediately. She supposes he’s grateful it’s one less thing he has to worry about for the time being. 

…

Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years bleed together, some of the quickest weeks of her life, but also, some of the most joyous. There are parties, gatherings and celebrations mixed in with quiet moments along the way. An early snowfall all but shuts Northern Virginia down for the better part of a week, rendering them housebound. It’s inconvenient, but gives them a few quiet days at home, building snowmen and snow forts, watching the fluffy white mess accumulate from the windows.

It’s the safest, and maybe the happiest, she’s ever felt.

...

Several thousand miles away, on a bitterly cold night in late February on the outskirts of a Russian town, a man emerges from the shadows without being seen. It’s the middle of the night, the narrow stretch of road completely deserted, but experience has taught him one can never be too careful. He flags down the first car he sees, satisfied to see the driver alone behind the wheel when it comes to a stop. 

The man is unassuming, with nothing more than a bag over his shoulder as he pretends to hitch a ride, muttering a few words in Russian, a language that feels unfamiliar and heavy on his lips. Coupled with his Irish lilt, it sounds unnatural, but it doesn’t matter, because the driver is as good as dead, anyway. 

The driver never sees it coming, the quick flash of a knife does the job in seconds. He hardly recognizes the cold wind as he drags the body from the car; he’s felt much worse than this. The man steals the phone from the dead man’s front coat pocket, dialing a number he’s known by memory for years. 

In the pale moonlight, a pair of striking blue eyes reflect on the bright screen as the call connects with the crackling of some static. The voice on the other line answers on the first ring. 

“Is that you?” 

“Liam. Have you found her yet?”

“Not yet. But I have something I think you’ll want to see.” The voice on the other end is gravelly and raw, but recognizable, one he hasn’t heard in  _ years _ , one he’d never forget. “A few more days are all I need. How soon can you be here?” 

“I’m on my way. And watch your back **.** They’ll be looking for me soon. And you too.”

“I wouldn’t let you down.” Liam has never been anything less than loyal, and  _ perhaps _ , he was right about  _ Lauren Reynolds _ all along. “I want the bitch dead just as badly as you do.” 

“Excellent.” Ian Doyle snaps the phone shut, a satisfied smile spreading across his lips as he imagines  _ exactly  _ how he plans to destroy her. He’s been imagining it for years, after all. 

...

“This is everything I have,” Liam says during their clandestine meeting with a bottle of whiskey between them. The last several years have not been kind to him, not that Ian is surprised. His hair is greyed, his eyes dull, face worn and wrinkled with the years of exhaustion that come with narrowly escaping the authorities, constantly looking over his shoulder. There’s a shabby envelope in his hands, the paper almost frayed at the corners, held together with a brittle rubber band. “Took me long enough.” He passes it over, and when Ian picks it up, it’s heavy, an entire dossier of information - all the information he could ever want. It’s practically a map right to her, complete with information about those she holds dear, a sure means to her end. It’s  _ exactly  _ what they need.

“You did well, Liam.” The Irish lilt is still in his voice, even after the years he spent in a Korean prison. The words he said to Lauren Reynolds years ago ring in his mind.  _ I’m a warrior, Lauren. I raise warriors. _

“I want to be there when you kill her,” Liam says, an almost evil glint in his eyes. “I’ll let you do the honors, but I want to be there.” 

Blue eyes meet brown ones, narrowing with understanding and scorn. 

“And you will, my friend. You will.” 

...

Six thousand miles away, tucked in bed, Aaron spills into Emily with a grunt, a stutter of his hips filling her to completion one last time. In his ear, she keens loudly as another orgasm rips through her for the fourth time that morning. She doesn’t bother trying to be quiet at this point, and there’s no need- they’ve been alone for the last sixteen hours. She wouldn’t be able to be quiet if she tried. By now her limbs are shaking, her body exhausted as he draws the last waves of pleasure out of her, watching with satisfaction as her face contorts with bliss. Aaron kisses her through the lingering moments of her comedown, bringing her legs down from his shoulders carefully. They’ve been at this for awhile; he knows she’s already sore. 

“You know how happy you make me?” He asks moments later, brushing her hair from her face.

“Tell me.” 

“Happy enough that I agreed to go salsa dancing tonight.” 

_ It was Allison’s idea to go salsa dancing. Emily had laughed when she mentioned making it a double date, but her friend is persistent, and coincidentally, Jack has another birthday party sleepover that night, so there’s little she can say to refuse the invite. Not to mention, it’ll be good to spend some time together. They rarely spend time with Allison and Shane as is, and ever since Jude was born, even less.  _

_ “Salsa dancing?” Aaron had asked, with a raised eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. _

_ “It’ll be fun,” she said right back, coyly. “Just don’t step on my feet.”  _

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re not the least bit excited.” 

“The things I do for love,” he quips, with a sigh, looping his arms around her waist and pulling her back to his chest, his teeth marking up her ear lobe. When her head falls against his shoulder, Emily wonders if every moment of pain and heartache they’ve been through was actually worth it in the end. 

...

Much to her surprise, and his too, salsa dancing is a smashing success. The four of them are a lively mess, laughing in the night air, stumbling out of the bar. Aaron is beside her, his hand finding hers as they fumble with coats and jackets, not bothering with gloves. Her cheeks flush pink in the cold, and against her pale skin, she looks like some kind of Snow White - a tipsy one, at least.

“You weren’t nearly as bad as I thought,” Emily jokes, pushing her hip into Aaron’s. “That was a lot of fun. We should do it again.” 

“We should,” Shane laughs, reaching for Allison’s hand and spinning her underneath his arm, a kiss to her cheek. “We hardly ever have fun anymore.”

“We’re parents, Shane.” Allison kisses him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Our priorities are different now.” But she’s beaming too, and quickly points out a new bar on the street corner - one they’ve been meaning to try. 

Emily is only half aware of her ringing phone, quickly pulling it out of her pocket. Usually the babysitter calls Aaron, but they have her number too, just in case. It’s a number she doesn’t have saved, and one she can’t place. Definitely not the babysitter. Whether that’s from the alcohol or not, she isn’t sure. Closing one eye, she stares at the brightly lit screen, she frowns at the unrecognizable number. A quick, closer look shows this person has called three times before that, in fifteen-minute increments. There’s a text message too - short, nondescript, but it’s enough to make her freeze in place. 

_ Call me on this line ASAP. SM. _

The blood rushes to her ears, because there’s only one person with those initials who would send such a cryptic text. Whatever happy buzz she felt leaving the bar is all but gone, leaving her with nothing but a headache and ringing ears, her mouth drier than dust. 

“What is it?” Aaron asks, sounding curious but carefree, his arm slipping around her waist. He catches her staring at her phone, tightening his grasp. “Everything alright? Jack’s okay?” 

“Fine,” she says with a smile. “Jack’s just fine.” 

_ No. There’s no way. It has to be some mistake.  _

…

“I have meetings all day, and one with Strauss at six.” Aaron says over breakfast a few days later, after Jack has already left for school. “I’ll be home late.” From over his newspaper, he glances at her. “Jessica is going to pick up Jack after school and keep him for a little while. Do you think you could pick him up around seven?” 

“I have an appointment again,” she lies a little too easily, holding her coffee mug in two hands. Anything less than that and it might slip from her grasp. She’s racked her brain to come up with a more plausible explanation, even considered telling him the half truth - having drinks with an old friend. But he knows her, and would certainly ask more questions. 

“At seven PM?” 

“It’s the only time they could fit me in.” Emily still doesn’t look up from the coffee, watching the layer of cream blend with the dark liquid, swirling together as she spins the mug around. She’s barely taken a sip at all. “They have later hours on Wednesdays now.” 

“Everything okay?” 

She gets up, discreetly dumping the mug into the sink, putting it in the dishwasher before he notices it was almost full. “Just fine.” To convince him, she leans down, capturing his lips in a deep, long kiss, complete with tongue and teeth, sucking gently on his bottom lip. “Stop worrying so much.” 

“I thought you forgot I was even here,” he holds onto her for a few more seconds, wanting to keep her close and never let go. “You seem so distracted. You have the last two days.” 

“I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well.” She smiles, as reassuring as she can. “I’ll feel better once the day gets started.” 

Aaron frowns, but it fades quickly, as he glances at his watch and hurries to his feet. He’s about to be late. “See you tonight then. Call me when you’re on your way back.” He kisses her again, like he’ll get to do it every day for the rest of his life. 

Emily swallows the lump in her throat, wondering if this might be the beginning of the end. 

…

Sean looks like he’s aged twenty years as opposed to the five or so it’s been since the last time she saw him. In fact, she almost misses him as she slips into the dark bar. It’s a dive, in one of the seedier parts of the city, yet she knows why he picked it. She’d do exactly the same thing. No one would ever think to find them there. 

“You haven’t aged a day,” Sean says, pulling her into a hug that doesn’t feel as warm as it should, given how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other. He smells like cigarettes, and she can tell he’s already had more than one drink. “What’s your secret?” 

“Profiling murderers across the country for weeks without a break.” There’s a drink across from his, waiting for her. Clearly, he hasn’t forgotten what she likes, and her mind goes back to all the drinks they shared over the years, surreptitiously in cities across Europe and a few in the states too. The initial coffee dates, the late night chats. It seems like a lifetime ago. 

“Sounds about right.” 

“How are you, Sean? How is Adaleigh?” 

“A spitting image of Rebecca.” The softness of his eyes tells her the hidden meaning behind his words. It might be the only reason his hair isn’t completely greyed. He took his own advice and got out, like he’d urged her to do years ago. 

“You’re back together, aren’t you?” Emily can’t help but smile, because there was a time when things were much different, and what was left of her own heart had ached for Sean in those days. Maybe he’d overcome his own vicious cycle. Maybe they both did. 

“For almost four years now. It’s not always easy, but we’ve been making it work. Things have been … good.” He folds his hands, regards her carefully, as if debating what to say next. “And you?” He looks as if he already knows what she’s about to say. In some way, she supposes he probably does. 

“Aaron and I are together.” It comes out as a whisper, even though it’s not a secret anymore. “We have been for awhile now.” 

“I had a feeling. So I was right all along about the two of you.” 

“You were right. And It wasn’t easy. It still isn’t, some days. But … lately …” She trails off, thinking of what she and Aaron have built for the last year and some months, and before that too. 

Sean’s eyes drift closed for a fleeting second, which sends a chill down her spine **.** Whatever he came here to say is weighing on him heavily. There _has_ to be another reason why he’s here, she tries to rationalize with herself. It can’t be what she’s thinking. It just can’t. Fate hasn’t exactly been kind to either of them over the years, and now it seems as if the relative sense of normalcy they’ve had within the last few years is about to be cruelly yanked away. 

“Why are you here, Sean?” She touches his arm with cautious, trembling fingers, cold as ice. “Why did you ask me to meet you here? You didn’t come all this way without a good reason.” 

“Ian Doyle escaped from prison. Interpol can’t find him.” 

_ Nothing _ could have prepared her for those words, even if she knows it’s the only explanation why he’d be here like this. **“** What? What are you saying?” Her fingers tighten around his sleeve like a vice. The news itself makes her mind spin, her heart race and her stomach twist, the numbness starting to take over, enveloping her in a fear she hasn’t known in years. 

“He’s off the grid, Emily. He could be anywhere. You know how good he is.” 

_ She knows better than anyone.  _ “Do you think he’s headed here?” She asks, the alarm in her voice evident, a rasp she doesn’t even recognize. 

Sean says nothing, a clear indicator that he has no words to calm her, something he’s always been able to do in some way, shape or form. He scrubs his chin with his hand, the lines in his face deepening before her eyes. 

“Am I in danger?” Emily says quietly, then immediately thinking of something so much worse. “Is  _ Aaron  _ in danger?” 

“We all are.” 

…

Emily doesn’t go back to Aaron’s apartment after bidding Sean goodnight. He doesn’t say it outright, but his parting hug is a plea to be careful, and it has a sense of finality behind it. When she turns away she swipes at a tear, because it might just be the very last time she ever sees him. Instead, she goes to her own place, leaving Aaron a quick message, a lie about a maintenance issue in her building **.** Of course she’ll have to come up with another lie in the morning to cover the one she’s just created, but for now it’s the best she can do. 

And there will be more lies after that, because that’s what her old life entailed - a series of lies, one after the other, until there’s no distinguishing between what’s real and what’s not. Lying to him nearly rips her apart. Those days are supposed to be long behind her, not coming back to haunt her. 

She stares into the dark that night with the Gimmel ring tightly wound in her hand, unable to sleep or even move from the chair perched in the hallway, just facing the securely locked door of her apartment as her mind sorts through her endless memories of Ian Doyle. He’ll want revenge - there’s nothing else left for him now. Not after what she’s done to keep those closest to him safe, or what she imagines he’s been through over the last years. He’s a warrior, he told her as much himself. He won’t stop until she’s dead, taking down everyone she loves along with her. 

The blissful happiness that’s been blooming slowly in her chest, bit by precious bit, for the last few months, along with the illusion of safety, shatters at her feet in a million pieces.

...

At first, she’s so convincing that everything is _fine_ , he doesn’t pick up on it right away. She lies again when he asks about the maintenance issue, right before their morning briefing as they’re leaving for Los Angeles, because there’s a taxi driver drowning women in methanol **.** When they return home a few days later, he tells her Jack has the stomach flu, and that it might be better if she sleeps at her own place that night. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says in his embrace as he leaves kisses along her ear, keeping her tone steady. “I love you.” She hugs him a little extra tightly and watches him drive away, the tears pricking the back of her eyes like a thousand needles.

One day he’ll know the truth, and by then she’ll be long gone, where no one will find her. She’ll spend the rest of her life paying the price of a lie, but he’ll be safe. They’ll all be safe, and in the end, that’s all that matters.

The purple flower that waits upon her return tells her it might already be too late for that. 

...

Emily scrapes by in New York, holding it together by the seams, each moment more challenging than the last. Outwardly, she keeps her composure, because she has no other choice. But the subtle signs are there, starting to bleed into her perfectly steeled exterior, and Aaron is quickly catching on that something isn’t right. But he knows pushing too hard will only drive her away, and it’s a test of his own willpower to come to him on her own terms.

Only when he says her name more than once in the car one morning does she realize she won’t be able to keep any of this a secret for much longer. “I’m a little carsick,” is the lie she tells time, cracking the window. And he doesn’t believe her but he says nothing, only grips the steering wheel a little tighter. 

_ If they can just make it through this case _ **_,_ ** is what he tells himself, deep down knowing something is wrong - going beyond a simple bad day or a rough week. No, it’s another issue entirely. Something he’s determined to get to the bottom of, no matter what. 

...

The night they get home, she wakes up in his bed, the clock next to her reads 2:00 AM. The second her eyes open she’s hypervigilant, listening for even the slightest sound that  _ something _ might be out of place. She isn’t supposed to be here - she  _ knows _ she shouldn’t be here at all. But she’d been too exhausted to argue, and his persistence eventually wore her down.

She gently moves his arm that’s somehow found its way around her waist in the hours since they fell asleep with things left unsaid. Slipping from the covers, she tiptoes silently out of his room, avoiding the parts of the floor that squeak under her bare feet. She checks the apartment - first Jack’s room, then the living room and kitchen, finishing with the bathroom. She moves with a silent, precise efficiency, checking the windows and doors, then double checking. It’s an exhausting ritual, one she’s done before, one she won’t have to do much longer.

The pain of knowing it’s only a matter of time is excruciating. She runs through every possible scenario. There’s only one way to make sure none of them get hurt. To leave. It’ll be her undoing, and his too, she knows that much. But knowing _ she _ could be responsible for him (or Jack) falling into Doyle’s trap, there’s  _ no _ alternative.

Emily makes it until close to 5, her eyes on the ceiling and her hand on Aaron’s leg. But she just can’t take it anymore. Locking herself in his bathroom, she turns the shower on full blast, the water as close as she can get to scalding without burning her skin. She steps under the spray, sinks to the ground, legs pulled to her chest, and sobs silently into her knees. The pain in her chest is familiar, but this is unlike anything she’s ever felt. The past is colliding with the present as she always feared it would in the back of her mind. No coming back from this. 

The shower is where she stays until she hears his alarm go off around 6, the water long gone cold and her fingers pruned.

She’s fully dressed before he’s out of bed. There’s not a hair out of place; she’s her same self, beautiful as the first day he ever saw her. But he knows better, reading the tiny changes in her body language - the way she looks away when he asks if he should make an extra piece of toast. The slight hesitancy when he wraps her into a hug, the distance she puts between them every chance she can - hiding behind a counter, sitting a few extra feet away on the couch. He’s wanted to deny it, but can’t any longer. 

“Emily, are you pregnant?” Aaron asks a little while later, out of the blue and unprompted, as she neatens up the kitchen methodically, occupying her hands but not her mind. Her mind hasn’t stopped racing since the night she walked away from Sean on the street in DC. There’s no way it ever could.

“What? she says sharply, turning to look at him. It sounds harsh, her eyes flashing angrily until she remembers he’s done  _ nothing _ even remotely wrong. Her hand tightens around the sponge in her hand, soapy water dripping down her wrist. “What would ever make you say that?”

“You’ve been … not yourself. Not sleeping, not eating.” He’s searching for the right words, treading lightly but pressing nonetheless. “If you think I haven’t noticed, you’re wrong.” It comes out soft, gentle almost, as if he’s hurting as much as she is. She guesses, in some way, he is. “I just thought maybe -” 

“No, Aaron. I’m not pregnant.” She has to bite her lip to keep it from trembling, because he almost looks  _ hopeful _ that she might just say yes. “I can assure you of that.” 

“Have you taken a test? To be sure? I can go get you one .. if you think it might … We haven’t really been careful at all.” He’s searching her eyes, desperate for an explanation, the culmination of her distance as of late coming to the surface. In his mind, it’s the  _ only _ thing that makes sense, and it  _ hurts _ to see him look so disappointed.

“Aaron,” Emily says softly, a little too quietly, immediately setting his warning bells off that something is indeed wrong. “You … don’t have to worry about that. Especially now.” 

“What are you talking about? Did … did something happen since your last appointment?” He’s racking his brain, thinking back to the days before and after her latest one.  _ Did I miss something?  _

“Everything is fine, Aaron. Nothing happened.” The smile she forces is painful, the fake reassurance of her own voice unbearable. The palm of her hand burns when she touches the side of his face, freshly shaven and smooth. “I’m tired, stressed, and I haven’t been sleeping well. You  _ know _ things have been hard since JJ left. Some days, it just gets to me. That’s all. I promise, I’m just fine.” 

“Why won’t you talk to me? This isn’t about a burst pipe, or whatever else you’re about to push me away with. It’s a bad excuse. I know something isn’t right, Emily. I  _ know _ you. Don’t you know that? **”**

“Aaron,” she says quietly, her mind replaying some of their happiest memories, a catalogue of the years of her life. “There’s nothing going on. I  _ promise _ . **”** Emily rises on tiptoe, kissing his jaw, watching him with widened eyes. “You  _ need _ to stop worrying.” 

They’re interrupted by his ringing phone, which he answers curtly, nodding and muttering a few short words back. When he ends the call, he already looks exhausted and drained, for it means they have a case, and from the sounds of it, a tough one “We’ll talk when we get back. Let’s leave it at that.” 

All Emily can do is nod. She owes him the decency of the truth, but the truth will rip them apart, and may even be the end for both of them. The truth, she decides, will remain buried.

It’s the only way. 

**...**

The news of Jeremy’s death means Ian is closing in, and most likely saving her for last. If he can find Jeremy, he can get to them all. Easily. “What’s being done to locate Doyle?” Emily asks nervously from a bench, the burner phone pressed to her ear. She doesn’t have a lot of time, and even being on the phone with them is making her heart race. From across the courtyard she sees Tsia and Clyde for the first time in years. Her heart aches for Tsia, who can’t even properly mourn her husband at his funeral. 

“Every agency in the Northern Hemisphere is looking for him.”

“He sent me flowers. I think it’s safe to assume he’s coming here.” Emily says nervously, glancing around at the hordes of people.  _ He could be anywhere _ . 

“I will find him, darling.” Clyde sounds more confident than she does. “Trust me.” 

She doesn’t believe him. Not in the slightest. “I don’t trust anyone anymore.” 

Aaron’s eyes are dark when she hurries into the briefing a little while later. She mumbles a brief apology, knowing it probably won’t be enough to appease him. But they have a job to do, one that involves a traumatized child in Louisisana, and there isn’t enough time to even process what’s going on between the two of them.

It’s another brewing storm between them, one she’s fully responsible for. 

…

The morning they’re scheduled to leave Louisiana, he makes love to her one last time. He doesn’t know it’s the last time, but she does. Soon enough, he will too.  _ “I love you, so much,”  _ she breathes into his neck, their chests pressed together, her heart beating against his. It’s about to shatter into pieces. 

He wraps his arms around her so tightly it makes her eyes burn even through the final, powerful climax that tears through her, taking her breath away. Emily chokes back a sob and presses her teeth into his shoulder to stifle her moans and her tears.

What she doesn’t know is that he’s crying too, for he feels her slipping away, and he’s powerless to stop  _ any _ of it. 

Emilys helps Ashley with some bureaucratic nonsense on the flight home - it’s a thick packet of paperwork from the Academy, along with the rest of their case reports. It bides the time, keeps Aaron a safe distance away, for he wouldn’t dare to call her out in front of the team. 

_ This is it.  _

_... _

Emily turns her phone off, but immediately before, sends a quick text to Aaron. It’s another lie- a lie that traffic is bad, but she’s almost at her apartment, and that she loves him. She doesn’t bother to wait for his response. He won’t believe her, and it might rip her own heart out to see his response. The coffees she brings with her are an afterthought, an attempt to settle her frayed nerves. It’s a way to make her presence seem casual to the random passerby as she settles at a table for two, the sun setting behind the trees. 

A trickle of sweat runs down her spine even though the wind that whispers through the trees is chilly, almost announcing his presence. She waits. Unsure of how long, exactly, but judging by the fact the coffee has cooled under her fingers, at least an hour. Maybe two. But he’ll be there. He’s probably  _ already _ there, and has been for hours. She doesn’t dare look at her phone - Aaron should be asleep by now but there’s no way he is. With her phone off, he can’t trace her, which is one small blessing in all of this. If he could, he would have found her already. She can’t think of what would have happened then. 

The hand on her shoulder chills her to the very core, even though she’s been waiting for it. A gentle touch so familiar yet foreign, one she’ll always remember, seared in her memory from what feels like a lifetime ago.

“I knew you were watching me.” 

“What’s the expression? Keep your friends close, your enemies on surveillance?” 

“Hello Ian.” 

“Hello, Lauren.” He sounds _exactly_ the same as he did all those years ago, his voice a memory in and of itself, and when her name rolls off his tongue in two syllables, there are hundreds of others that flood back. She remembers each of them in perfect, agonizing detail. **“** Or should I say … Emily Prentiss?” 

_ He knows everything, as she expected he would.  _ “You’re running out of time, Ian. Interpol is already looking for you.” 

His fingers dig into her shoulder, now a menacing reminder of just how much damage he’s capable of, how much power he wields, and how little time she has left. His voice is frighteningly calm and cold as he sneers. “Oh, but I’ve got  _ all _ the time for you, love.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3 Stay tuned for chapter 43!


	43. Forty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe this is where their story is supposed to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well. We’ve reached one of the moments I’ve been waiting for since December, Ian Doyle’s return. Strangely enough, this chapter was written almost entirely to Frank Sinatra. I don’t know what that says about me or my writing brain, but … I digress. I’ll keep this short, but thank you for the sweet words on 42, as always. I am going to miss you all when this is over - seeing your names in my inbox is like getting a hug from each of you, and I can’t thank you enough for all the love along the way of this little adventure. And, a very special thank you to AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell for once again reading through the early mess of half-written scenes and random lines/notes/rants, for your expertise, and all of your support along the way!

**Chapter 43: Be Still**

_ When darkness comes upon you and colors you with fear and shame _

_ Be still and know that I'm with you and I will say your name _

_ And when you go through the valley, and the shadow comes down from the hill _

_ If morning never comes to be _

_ be still, be still, be still _

“What do you  _ want  _ Ian _? _ ” Emily demands once he’s seated in front of her, like an old friend who stopped by for a casual cup of coffee. Her spine stiffens like a rod, her cold, quickly numbing fingers curl around the cup in her own hand. It’s a question she doesn’t need to ask. She studied his every move for  _ years _ ,  _ learned  _ him in the most intimate of ways. She knew him as a man, as a father, as a lover. None of that matters now.

“You.” His voice is like steel, devoid of any leniency, his stare so intense she wants to look away. “Not today, don’t worry about that. But  _ soon _ .” His eyes are so blue he could drown in them like she did many times before, in a different life. There isn’t a trace of mercy in his tone; it’s icy and calculating as if he’s visualizing her demise at that very moment **.** It’s the one he saves for those who wronged him. Now she’s on that list, a list she put herself on from the moment she climbed into an SUV one afternoon in Tuscany. 

“I could take you out right now.” Her hand is steady on the gun under the table, her finger wrapped around the trigger. There’s another strapped to her leg and one on her belt, yet they wouldn’t do her any good. His men are highly trained, most likely everywhere, and acting on those words would surely bring her own death right on the spot. 

Ian only laughs, because of course she knows she wouldn’t last another thirty seconds if she follows through with her promise. “Does your team know the truth about you, _Emily_ _Prentiss_?” His assessment of each of each of them is what makes her see red, her hidden fear turning to a quiet anger as he recounts their whereabouts that evening in precise, chilling detail. The descriptions are so accurate it splits her already broken heart even further. 

“Here you are, all alone, while Aaron sits at home with his son. Tell me about him, Emily. Does he make you as happy as I once did? Scream as loudly?” He’s smiling, but there’s no humor behind it. It’s pure enjoyment on his end to watch her tense with panic at the uttering of Aaron’s name, the mention of Jack, at what he  _ knows _ about them. 

“Come near them, and I will  _ end you _ ,” she hisses, her pulse starting to beat faster as her eyes burn with the pricking pain of tears, her mind flashing to Aaron and Jack. “Come near  _ my team _ and I will end you.” 

“I don’t have a quarrel with your team. Most of them, at least.” Ian continues calmly, methodically, as if it’s mere child’s play. “But, how long that remains the case depends entirely on you.” He never takes his eyes off of her; he doesn’t even blink. 

“They’re innocent,” Emily says firmly and simply, as the rage and fear mixes like wildfire in her veins. It takes everything she has to maintain the composure she shows, knowing there’s a fine line between his compassion and retribution. 

“You’re not.” What he wants is simple, and he is ready to wreak vengeance without a care in the world of who gets in his way. It’s up to  _ her  _ to ensure they don’t, whatever it takes.

“I was doing my job, Ian.”  _ Maybe so, but it was so much more than that. They both know it went so far beyond that. There were days and nights that blurred together, years of danger and lust, coupled with what was doomed to end tragically from the very beginning. She crossed every line and boundary, and now she’s about to pay the price many times over. _

“I think you did a little more than that.” The wistful look that ghosts his face tells her he remembers it all as clearly as she does. “You took the only thing that mattered to me. So now I’m going to take the only thing that matters to you. Your life.” He reaches into his pocket, handing her the tiny gold square with the clover stamped in the middle, hers for the taking. His signature.  _ Valhalla. It’s his way of telling her this is how it will end. He’ll have the last laugh, the final blow.  _

“But I’m going to make sure Aaron Hotchner is there to watch you take your last breath.” 

...

Aaron wrings his hands, willing himself not to look at the clock. It’s been more than _two hours_ since Emily texted him, a message that was so clearly a lie it angered him to read. He’s already checked the traffic reports near Quantico - there’s nothing that would cause a delay like this. In fact, it’s mostly clear, almost completely unheard of. He keeps trying, another text followed by two more after that go unanswered, and it’s _so_ unlike Emily, he picks up the damn phone and calls her. Except, it doesn’t ring this time, instead going straight to voicemail, and he starts to fear the worst. This is deliberate and intentional. Turning her phone off means she can’t be traced, and she’s well aware of this. He’s racked his brain for weeks now, unsuccessfully analyzing the subtle changes in her behavior. The assumption that she was pregnant had been his only logical hypothesis - the only thing that he could imagine to cause such a noticeable change in her behavior. And while he’d spent the last few days avoiding the truth, it’s clear there’s something much more insidious at hand, something that he _isn’t_ supposed to know.

Something he’s determined to find out. 

Aaron calls Jessica - the only person he can think of to come on such short notice -mumbling something about a work emergency and if it would be too much trouble to watch Jack. She doesn’t ask questions but doesn’t quite believe him either when he all but runs out the door, his jacket slung on one shoulder and nothing but his keys in his hand. His hands clench around the wheel, his foot a little too heavy on the gas as he drives to her apartment, and he has to remind himself to breathe. 

A loop around her building confirms his worst fears. Her car is missing, the windows in her apartments completely dark. She’d lied right to his face - she never planned on going home at all. He tries her once more, fingers frantically dialing the numbers, only to hear her voice on the message recording, her voice ringing in his ears. Aaron throws the phone with enough force that it bounces into the backseat. The silence around him is cold and empty, heavy with fear and dread, his own thoughts tormenting **.**

_ Where are you?  _ He bangs his fist against the steering wheel, then puts his head in his hands. 

…

Emily doesn’t dare go home that night. Instead she waits at the rickety table until her legs stop tingling. Then she walks to the Metro, sending a quick text to Tsia and Clyde. She blends in with the crowd, but Ian and his associates could still be tracking her.  _ They could be anywhere _ . She keeps her head down and her stride brisk, weaving in and out of the crowd **.** A few minutes later, the burner phone in her pocket beeps, a message from Clyde.  _ They’re on their way.  _

The Metro station is crowded yet she  _ still _ can’t help but feel ridiculously exposed once she’s on the train, every passerby sending alarms off in her head. Her eyes drift shut as she sits on the cold plastic chair, and she imagines falling asleep next to Aaron, his body warm and safe against hers. _ Aaron _ . He has to be so worried, and by now he’s certainly aware that her phone is turned off.  _ He’s probably looking for me _ , Emily thinks.  _ He’s probably been out all night _ . It hurts to think of his face for long. He deserves none of this. Her mind races, spinning out of control until her eyes open once again. The notion of rest is a foreign one. Emily can’t remember the last time she actually slept. 

Seeing Clyde and Tsia in front of her, not just at a distance or on the phone, makes all of this more real. Their presence is a reminder of just how bad things will really get if they don’t figure something out. One of them is undoubtedly next on his list, like a time bomb.

“Ian Doyle is here in DC.” Emily ignores Tsia’s concerned stare and Clyde’s piercing blue eyes as she gives the news, keeping her voice low even on the crowded Metro. 

They question how she can be so sure, and only when she mentions sitting across from him mere hours before, do they too realize he’s about to close in on them all. No matter what, he’s always several steps ahead of them.

“Why didn’t he kill you? And more to the point, why didn’t you kill him?” 

Emily scoffs. “We all know he’s not working alone.” 

It’s true. They  _ know _ Ian  _ almost _ as well as she does, exactly what he’s capable of. With his team of henchmen, he’s a deadly threat to anyone in his path. So when Tsia suggests she should tell the team, bring them in, let them help, Emily adamantly refuses with a resounding shake of her head. “No. This isn’t their fight, and I won’t take that risk.” 

Clyde closes his eyes, probably cursing her stubbornness, and Emily wonders just how much he knows about her history with Aaron. _Probably all of it. He’s good like that,_ she remembers well. “When you went undercover, I promised you no one would harm you.” It’s his way of assuring her something he can’t - that he’ll keep her safe. But that was before Ian spent years in a foreign prison because _she_ betrayed him, _before_ she took everything he held dear. 

“I’m not undercover anymore. DC isn’t his comfort zone. It’s mine. This ends here.” She’ll do this alone because it’s her only choice. It’s a mess she got herself into years ago, one she’ll fix on her own. Even if it costs her life.

…

They have a case, two couples murdered under suspiciously similar circumstances. Aaron barely acknowledges her when she slips in, late, but she feels his stony stare throughout the entire briefing. It’s clear he hasn’t slept much as he delineates their tasks, his usual brisk manner slightly off and he’s moving just a little slower than usual. Emily can feel him slipping away, putting a guard between them, when he moves right past her without an acknowledgement. It’s subtle, but when she looks up from her lap, her cheeks red with shame, she catches Morgan eyeing them both, a twist of suspicion in his eyes.

It won’t be long until he knows the truth. Until they all do. 

…

Lying to Dave feels inherently wrong, as if he can see right through her nervous attempt to push him off, but her exchange with Reid is like a knife in the chest. He’s been struggling too, she’s seen it with her own eyes, yet has barely given him the time of day in the last few weeks. The news of his headaches scares her, the quiet frustration in his eyes is something she hasn’t seen from him in so long, and while he puts on a brave face, Emily knows it’s much more than that. Yet she can barely make eye contact.

“You’ve been picking your fingernails again,” Reid says observantly, switching subjects. “You only do that when you’re stressed. I haven’t seen you do that much since ... he trails off, already drawing conclusions that don’t actually exist. 

“Since what, Reid?” 

“Since you and - “ he stops when his eyes flick to Aaron’s office, catching himself when he sees her swallow. “Nothing. Forget it.” And then he’s gone, completely unaware it might be one of their last conversations between the two of them. 

Emily fights the sob that lingers in her throat - it hasn't actually gone away - and stares at him as he turns toward the briefing room, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Her eyes follow his back until she’s being pulled by the arm around the corner, past the coffee machine into the small hallway with hardly any foot traffic. She’s so exhausted she wonders what is even happening at all, until a familiar scent floods her senses.  _ Aaron. Of course. _

“What the  _ hell _ are you doing?” His concern from the day before is replaced with anger as he gets two hands around her shoulders and presses her against the wall. It’s not rough but it isn’t exactly gentle, either. His eyes are dark; he’s clearly running on as little or less sleep than she is. “Where were you the other night? 

“Home,” she says as calmly as she can, and even though he isn’t holding her that tightly, it hurts. “Like I told you.” She swallows hard, staring right back at him, as if daring him to question her again.

“Try again, and this time don’t lie to me.” 

“You followed me.” She wants to slap him, scream at him, pure panic in her face as she considers what  _ could _ have happened had he been spotted. Ian has to have surveillance around, watching her apartment, even the BAU. It could have been a fatal mistake, more blood on her hands.

“I went to your apartment. Your car was gone.” He lowers his voice, for the first time as he recounts the lies she’s told, an intricate web of words that haven’t added up. He’s a master at controlling his emotions, especially at work, but the facade is starting to crumble, a painful collapse of everything they’ve built for the last few years with a few false words and uncomfortable silences **. “** I sat there for hours. You never came home.” 

“Let me go,” Emily snaps back, attempting to free herself. He holds her still, searches her eyes for a trace of the truth. 

“No. Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on, Emily.” 

She says nothing, biting her lip, looking in any other direction but at him, because the pain in his face is unbearable to see, to know she’s the cause of it all is even worse. 

“Look at me,” he demands quietly. “I’m not letting you do this. What are you hiding?  _ What  _ did you do? Let me help you - “

They’re suddenly interrupted by Morgan, whose suspicions are raised even more now when he finds them both, caught in a moment clearly not meant to be seen by anyone else.

“What is it, Morgan?” 

“There’s a common phone number between the victims. I think it’s worth checking out.” He holds both of their stares, and Emily has to look away. 

Aaron only nods, turning away from them both. “Take Emily with you.” 

…

It’s like being in a constant state of paralysis while simultaneously drowning, sinking further beyond reprieve. 

The dead man on the ground in the middle of DC is too young for an assault weapon, and the gaping wound on his wrist is clearly hiding  _ something _ . It becomes clear these murders are connected, a common link that leads back to Europe many years ago. They can’t see the signs yet, but she can. 

There isn’t a doubt in her mind of  _ who  _ is behind all of this. This is Ian’s endgame, the start of it at least, and he won’t stop. Not until she’s dead. 

Emily is aware of what’s happening around her yet powerless to stop it as the case spirals out of control right before her eyes. Reid has all but recreated the tattoo on the dead man’s wrist, and the air is sucked from her lungs when she sees it. She’d know the four leaf clover anywhere. The gold foil is still in her pocket, and the fact that they have this means they’re _ too close _ to finding the truth now. With only a few strings left to unravel, it will all come crashing down when they inevitably pull the right ones.

With a sinking feeling of dread, Emily reaches for her phone to call Tsia, only to hang up seconds later when she’s no longer alone. Penelope slips into the bathroom, all but cornering her because she too is aware that something isn’t right, and it’s her gentle, but persistent, prompting that all of this starts to catch up to her. 

Emily could never lie to Penelope, but their exchange hurts, almost more than the one with Reid. Instead she tells her a story, a thinly veiled version of the truth hidden in a haunting metaphor of a recurring nightmare. She chooses her words carefully to not alarm her even more but no matter what, it’s a goodbye in every sense. Penelope will take the news hard, and Emily can’t help but hold her a little tighter as they embrace. 

Ashley looks apologetic, knowing she’s interrupted  _ something _ when she rounds the corner. “Hotch needs you in the SCIF.” She looks out of place and uncomfortable, and for a brief moment Emily considers pulling her into a hug too, because it’s not her fault she’s walked into this mess, also putting her life on the line unknowingly. 

…

Aaron all but demands the information from CWS, pressing until their backs are against the wall with only one option left -to reveal their hand. Emily sits in silence as the final pieces of the puzzle are put together, each jagged edge fitting together too easily now. And when  _ his _ name is uttered in the concrete room, a secret revealed in a place that should be a safe haven, every last resort option she has starts to fade away. It’s his game at this point, a game they can only lose, and they’re all so blissfully unaware of the trap they’re walking right into. 

The team starts zeroing in on Doyle with their typical precision, scratching their heads at the more puzzling details. There are no extradition papers or prison records from Russia, and the sketch of the damn tattoo that still hangs on the board has revealed little. They have almost nothing, which they are acutely aware of, grasping at every last straw they can.

“He’s not gonna be able to get out of the district unless he sprouts wings himself.” Garcia sounds too confident, and all Emily can do is bite her lip and stays quiet. She knows how wrong they are. Ian can vanish without a trace, like a ghost. Then they’ll never find him. 

“Was Doyle on your radar when you were at Interpol?” Aaron barely looks at her; he’s doing everything in his power to keep the distance between them.

“Uh, I’d heard of him, but direct contact? I’d have to ask around.” 

He dismisses her with a curt demand to do so, turning away from her as quickly as he can.

...

Only when she’s in the car with Morgan **,** once again on another wild goose chase for information they’ll never find, does she feel like she can breathe again, until he opens his mouth. “Something up with you and Hotch? **”**

Emily shifts uncomfortably on her seat, racking her tired brain to come up with something that sounds remotely convincing. “What do you mean?” 

“Come on, Emily. I’m not stupid. He’s a mess lately, and so are you. What the hell is going on? And don’t tell me it’s just the stress of the case.” 

“So you’re profiling us now, Morgan?” 

“No. I’m making an observation based on the fact that you are my friends, and I’ve known you both long enough to know when something’s up.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but he doesn’t have to. Morgan knows her well; Emily shouldn’t be surprised he would figure this out.

“We’re fine. Just … working through some things.” She checks her phone and then one more time, letting a nervous sigh slip from her lips at the blank screen staring back at her. 

“No one’s getting back to you?” 

“They’ll get back to me.” Emily glances over her shoulder, nervously. Morgan doesn’t understand - how could he - and she feels guilty for snapping at him, barking at him for his driving until her phone rings. The number that appears is unknown, which means it has to be Tsia.

The cryptic phone call only manages to raise Morgan’s suspicions even more. “You know, Emily, you really need to trust people.” It’s a conversation they’ve had before.

“I trust people,” she says defensively, knowing exactly where this is headed. He’s on her case; she won’t be able to deny things much longer. 

“No you don’t, because you can’t. I get it.” Derek  _ would _ know better than anyone - it’s part of the understanding they’ve always shared, one of the reasons why he can so easily call her out.

“Derek, -” 

“Every time you count on someone, they let you down, so you don’t. But you’ll never admit that because you’re just too damn stubborn.”

The accuracy of his words makes her chest hurt; she doesn’t dare look at him for she knows what she’ll find in his eyes.  _ Disappointment, confusion, and questions she’ll never be able to answer. _

He takes a different approach this time, but it’s too late. “No matter how awful you think it is, I promise you, you’re not alone.”

Of course he says that, because he doesn’t know the truth. But she only smiles, as assuringly as she can. “Profile me again and you’ll wish you hadn’t.” 

…

Emily knows as soon as she hears the description that the body on K & 9th street is Tsia. 

But actually seeing her old friend, dead on the ground with a bullet in her head, is something else entirely. It solidifies the fact she has to run. He’s saving her for last, to make her experience the suffering she caused him. There’s no one left for him to destroy, except those she loves, the closest thing she’s ever had to a family in her life.  _ Her team _ . 

Ian will take this to the very bitter end. It seems only fitting that place will be Boston, and the decision to leave has never been clearer. The fact there’s vomit on her pants and shoes is not the only reason why she demands Morgan make a stop at her apartment after they leave the crime scene **.** It gives her a chance to take care of a few loose ends **.** Emily quickly flushes the ring in the toilet, not giving it another look. She leaves the safe open - they’ll find everything they need in there to aid them in finding Doyle. It might be too late for her, but they’ll find him, and this will point them in the right direction. There’s an envelope, addressed to Aaron, which she leaves where they will undoubtedly see it, whoever might get there first. It won’t be long until they do. 

The sun is setting as they get back to Quantico, the sky an angry shade of orange and red, the wind a hushed whisper through the trees. “Knowing Ian Doyle’s identity doesn’t give us very much.” Aaron gives the profile with a steady voice to the crowd that has gathered, speaking clearly and calmly even though Emily knows he’s anything but. “All federal and international agents responsible for tracking him down are on his list of targets.” 

_ She can hardly breathe as she watches her two worlds collide, two that were never supposed to meet.  _

“We’ll find Doyle the way we find any other offender. By studying his behavior. We’ll dissect his every move since he regained his freedom.” 

_ By then, it’ll be too late. Ian will already be gone.  _

Aaron is still speaking when their eyes meet, and she holds his stare until he turns away first, his face emotionless, a shield of everything he’s hiding. He’s compartmentalizing like she would, separating himself from her because he’s  _ hurting _ , but this isn’t how she wants to remember him, anyway. She closes her eyes, and when she does she sees that night in Paris, the evening at the shore, the early morning in the hotel room in New York  _ years  _ ago. She remembers his promises in the dark and the middle of the night diner coffee date, their history playing out in her mind like a series of photographs, each one hazier than the last.

Maybe this is where their story is supposed to end.

“You good?” Morgan asks quietly. 

_ God, she’ll miss him, too.  _

“I’m good.” When she looks back, Aaron is worlds away even though it’s only a couple of feet between them, and she knows it’s time. Emily gives herself twenty seconds to look around, to take them all in, commit them to memory. 

Ashley will be a great agent one day, she knows it, because she’s taught her well. Dave will become the backbone of the team, a job he never signed up for but will take on because that’s who he is. Reid will struggle, and it will take time for the bruise on his heart to fade. Morgan will lose one of the best friends he’s ever had, a partner and confidant, someone who understands him in a way no one else can. Penelope will add a few more fluffy figurines to her desk but it won’t numb her pain. And Aaron … his anger will subside, yet his grief will remain, and her biggest fear isn’t what will happen to her, but the thought of his face when he learns the full truth of who she really is, what she’s done.

When she turns away, putting one foot in front of the other without looking back until she’s into the pitch black, cold night, Emily holds her breath and fights the tears that well in her eyes. They’re the only thing that matters, the closest thing she’s had to a family all her life. If keeping them safe means her own death, then so be it. And when she closes the car door, finally alone, Emily’s heart splits apart as she buries her face in her hands and sobs.

…

“ _ Lauren Reynolds is dead.”  _

Whatever pride Aaron feels for his team’s quick profiling is all but snuffed out when Reid makes the connection between the missing name on the list, and Emily’s involvement in it all goes deeper than he could have ever imagined .And the despair he feels when he pulls her badge and gun from the desk is raw, an understanding that came hours too late. An understanding of what had started as distance and silence, that morphed into something much sinister, the weight of it all too much for even her to bear. 

_ How did he not see this? He’s a damn profiler for God’s sake, and her lover. He’d wanted to ignore it, to pretend like nothing could shatter what they’d worked so hard to build over the years, yet that denial is what contributed to this mess.  _

_ And now they’re in an extremely precarious position, because as long as she is still alive and Doyle at large, none of them are safe, either. Doyle will hunt her to the ends of the earth, but they won’t let that happen, because they’re going to get him first. There’s no other option.  _

“She ran to protect us,” Dave rationalizes except he has nothing else to give as he tries to suppress his own fear for the sake of his team. 

“All right, then how do we find her?” 

“Here’s how. Ian Doyle is our unsub, Emily is our victim. We profile their behavior and we treat it like any other case.” His team stares back at him cautiously, as if waiting for him to snap under the pressure of it all. He won’t. They’re looking for  _ him _ to lead, like he’s always done. They  _ need _ his guidance but they’re also incredibly aware of the complications this brings. It’s personal for them all but something else entirely for him. He ignores the sympathetic glances, the hushed voices, and throws himself into the job in front of him.

JJ is a welcomed presence, a small sigh of relief amidst the chaos. Aaron knows it’s not a coincidence that she stays close to him the moment she steps back into the bullpen, never more than a few feet away at any given time. She came prepared, having been briefed on a snippet of Emily’s CIA history, which she explains carefully, starting with the JTF-12 Taskforce and working her way through the rest. It answers his questions and creates many more, for this goes beyond the bits and pieces of her file that only briefly mentioned Interpol. 

Lauren Reynolds wasn’t just an alias, but an arms dealer herself, having successfully infiltrated Doyle’s inner circle to gain access to Valhalla. If he weren’t so numbingly blindsided by it all, he’d almost be impressed, for only Emily would manage such a feat. 

“Look at how she’s dressed. She seems awfully comfortable.” Morgan points out what he’s been trying to avoid - the fact that nothing about these photographs are staged. And he  _ knows _ the truth as soon as he sees them. In the photos, she’d looked at Doyle the same way she’d looked at him years ago. There’s no hiding what happened between the two of them. 

“How close did she get to Doyle as part of her cover?” 

JJ swallows, her eyes shifting between Aaron and Dave, choosing her words carefully. “The recon they did on Doyle included a background of all of his romantic relationships. Emily was his type.” It’s a confirmation without saying what he’s really asking, and the rest of them, even Ashley, look away as Aaron processes the news. He’s not stupid, especially when it comes to Emily. He’s always known there are things she hasn’t told him, things he doesn’t deserve to know from the years they spent apart. But there’s an innate sense of betrayal, an awareness of just how far she went under the guise of duty, with it being much more than infiltration. The photos tell him everything - she  _ loved  _ this man, despite knowing exactly who he was.

_ But why?  _

A date in the corner of one of the photos is what tells him the answers he needs. 

He tears the papers out of Dave’s hands, the letters and words blurring together like a useless string in front of him. “This is all connected,” he croaks, and what he doesn’t say, but thinks, is that he is partially responsible for all of this. “When was she recruited?” He asks weakly, flipping through a few of the documents for confirmation. If what he’s thinking is correct, he already has an idea of why. 

“Emily made contact with a Sean McAllister in New Haven a year before she officially became part of JTF-12. They spent a lot of time together according to his notes. At first it was mostly coffee dates. He was impressed with her linguistics skills and language abilities.” 

His brain makes the connection almost instantly.  _ Only a few months after her … oh, God.  _

“Emily traveled to Europe in the spring a few months after she first met Sean. She connected with him there, which is when she met Clyde Easter, another member of JTF-12. We assume this is when she learned of the mission and what her role would be.” 

_ Aaron remembers, with a tension building behind his eyes, that was when he started looking at rings for Haley.  _

“By that fall, she was back in Europe **.** ” 

_ His mind is an endless mess of dates and brief snippets of conversations he’s never forgotten but filed away. This is what Allison had been worried about the day she demanded they meet for coffee, explaining Emily’s sudden secrecy, the move to Europe. It all makes sense now. He remembers his final conversation with Emily in the bar in the middle of DC, the shadows that lined her face, how she somehow seemed to have withered away before his very eyes, a shell of what she once was. He remembers the haunting finality of the conversation. It’s all so clear now.  _

“They groomed her,” Aaron says weakly, glancing at Dave, who also seems to be connecting the dots. “McAllister and Easter groomed her to go undercover as Lauren Reynolds. And she walked right into it.” 

“Emily knew what she was doing, Hotch.” JJ’s tone is gentle, telling him what he already knows. “She  _ knew _ what her role was before she signed on. It wasn’t exactly a secret.” 

He wants none of it, even if he knows it’s the truth. “And when did she make contact with Doyle?” 

“There was a lot of surveillance on Valhalla early on. Infiltration was the only option. She assumed the identity of Lauren Reynolds in the spring. She finally met Doyle in the summer.” 

“When?” He demands through firmly clenched teeth. 

“The middle of June. The eighteenth.” 

_ The day he married Haley. It’s like they both spun out of control simultaneously in an attempt to heal whatever wounds of each other remained. Aaron briefly closes his eyes; the tension in his head has progressed to full blown ache, the blood pounding in his ears. _

“And how long until she was pulled out?” 

“Almost two years.” 

Aaron glances at the photos again - there are so many, yet he can’t bring himself to look at more than a few. For two years Emily loved that man - the terrorist they’re so intensely focused on catching. She’d loved him, and he’d loved her back. He’d shown her something she needed at the time, and in a way, healed her. 

It all makes perfect, sickening sense. 

**...**

The Black Shamrock  _ still _ smells like ashtrays and bad decisions, Emily thinks, as she slips through the doors and inconspicuously orders a drink. It’s strong, like she remembers, and she waits at the table in the corner, because soon enough, she’ll find who she needs. And just like she thought, history repeats itself when Jack Fahey lurks through the doors, sidling up to the bar.

This will be too easy, she thinks as she slips out right past him, knowing exactly which car to look for on the street. 

Fahey has always been a pawn, a simple target, a slimeball. Nothing has changed in the eight years it’s been since she saw him last, and a smile curls across her lips when he curses to himself when the car won’t start. That’s because of her. 

“Battery’s dead, Fahey.”

“Lauren, how about you do me a favor. Ease up on that gun, okay?” He’s trembling, she clearly took him by surprise.  _ Good _ . “I can help you now,” he pleads nervously, twitching as she cocks the gun behind him. “Do you want to know where Doyle is?” 

“I already do,” Emily seethes, not even flinching when she shoots him right through the ear and Fahey screams in agony. 

She hardly hears him, because it takes her one step closer to Doyle.

...

“We recovered a bunch of stuff from the safe in Emily’s apartment.” Morgan slams the evidence bag down on the table, revealing a pile of documents and papers, identification and a few passports, a gold necklace, and a plain white envelope that’s crinkled and yellowed with time. He’s been wearing the same scowl on his face since he left with Dave over an hour ago. Of course he feels betrayed and angry - they all do to an extent. **“** She left her real passport behind too.” 

Aaron knows the safe - could give specifics of exactly where it was. He’d seen it many times, never thought to open it, unaware of what secrets lay hidden behind the locked door. He certainly never expected this. 

“It’s called a Gimmel ring,” Dave explains, holding up the ornate gold band for them to see. “The husband and wife-to-be wear individual bands during the engagement and at the wedding.” 

“Doyle gave it to her,” Morgan snaps. “That ring is more than just a souvenir.” 

_ It’s another reminder of the secrets she kept from him, the steps she’d taken to conceal a part of her life that technically never existed _ **_._ ** _ She’d kept it for so long, hidden with everything else. _

“Doyle’s case started in Boston. That’s where it’s going to end.” 

“Then we’re going to Boston. Be ready in forty five minutes.” Aaron’s stomach might betray him, for the ring is another cold slap in the face, but what catches his attention is the plain white envelope with Emily’s handwriting on the front. He’d recognize it anywhere. 

“This was addressed to you.” Dave presses the envelope into his palm when he catches Aaron staring at it. “You might want to … take a few minutes and read it. Before we leave.”

“Not now, Dave.” He brushes him aside, in desperate need of a few minutes to comprehend all of this, even though he may never fully understand it. And what’s worse is he’ll have to live with that, with knowing he’s partly to blame for it in the first place. 

“Just do it, Aaron.” His face darkens, his tone demanding. “She left it there for you. Right in the open where we would see it. There’s something in there she wants you to know.” 

His lungs burn as he turns toward his office, the envelope in his pocket. In the solemn and silent darkness, settled at his desk, Aaron unfolds the paper to find the neatly written paragraphs on the worn paper, also in Emily’s slanted, pristine handwriting, except the ink has blurred in certain spaces from wet splotches that he knows were her own tears. He has to steady his shaking hands, almost dropping it a few times before he even makes sense of any of it. 

_ Aaron,  _

_ If you’re reading this, then I know you’ve talked to Sean, and you know the truth about everything. It’s too late, but I wanted to say it was never supposed to happen this way. By now you know I’m probably not coming home. My solace is knowing you are happy with Haley and the beautiful family that you’ve created. Love them with everything you have, fiercely. I always hoped you would never have to read this, but it doesn’t seem like that will be the case. Try not to be angry at Sean and Clyde when they bring this to you - it isn’t their fault. It was my decision, from the beginning, to do this. I knew the risks and took them willingly, down to the last moments. I wanted to.  _

_ Loving you has been one of the greatest adventures of my life, since that night we spent in Paris. Do you remember it? I told you that night I would go back to Europe, and in some way, my wish came true. Funny how life works, right? So much has changed since then, hasn’t it? It feels like a dream. This was never the life I imagined for myself but after what happened with everything, I had to leave. I couldn’t bear staying in the states one more minute. Losing our baby was like losing the last piece I had of you in my heart, one I would have cherished forever.  _

_ Check in on my mother from time to time, if you can. This is going to be hard for her. I never quite got around to telling her the truth about this, or a lot of other things. She’ll feel like she failed somehow. She didn’t. It’s my fault, really. Tell Allison I’m sorry too. She’s been such a good friend to me, and she deserves better. I hope she and Shane stay happy and in love. We could have been like them, you know?  _

_ You saved my life that summer, Aaron. I never told you that, but you did. What you might not know is the night you found me in the bathroom, bleeding all over the floor, I was planning on killing myself, and probably would have had you not shown up. You kept popping up everywhere after that, and I couldn’t get you out of my head. Of course, it wasn’t supposed to happen but it did, and I loved every second of what we had. You gave me a sense of peace in a time where I had none, made me feel safe when all I felt was fear and loathing. I didn’t know it at the time, but you were my heart’s match. I threw it all away because it felt so wrong, like I didn’t deserve any of it. I’ve spent every day of my life regretting that choice.  _

_ I love you with all of my heart, Aaron. I always have, and I always will. Until we meet again.  _

The space on the paper where her name would be is illegible, where her tears had clearly fallen. Aaron covers his face with his hands, a thousand pinpricks behind his tired eyes, but his own tears won’t come even as he feels every single one of them. 

He’s aware of shoes that could only be Garcia’s, cautiously appearing in his doorway a little while later, poking over the threshold. 

“Sir, Tsia got a hit on one of Clyde Easter’s covers. He’s on a plane to Boston right now.” She tiptoes into his office, knowing she’s intruded on a private moment. “I’m … I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

Aaron looks up, the letter still in his hand. “It’s okay, Garcia.” She looks lost, dazed and confused, just wanting to be helpful in some way but not quite knowing what to do. “Have him detained as soon as he steps off.” He rises to his feet, tucking the letter into his jacket pocket. “We need to go now. You’re coming with us.” 

She nods nervously, because  _ coming along _ is typically reserved for the worst of the worst cases, the ones they know they might never win. 

“And Garcia, call her. Call every number you have.” His footsteps are heavy as he brushes past her, his go bag in his hand. “Don’t stop until she answers.” 

Despite his demand, Aaron already knows she’s not going to pick up. 

...

Emily’s ringing phone makes her jump, the buzz cutting through the thick silence in the car. She’s not at all surprised to hear it’s Garcia, her usual cheerfulness noticeably absent. “Hey, it’s me. Hotch asked me to try all your numbers.”

_ Of course he did. _ The tears start to leak from her eyes at the mention of his voice, at the sound of her friend’s voice. It’s Aaron’s face she keeps seeing when she closes her eyes, but _. _ Garcia’s words ring in her ears, further solidifying the belief that her team is the closest thing to a family she knows.  _ You did the right thing _ , Emily tells herself as the lump in her throat thickens.  _ You’re keeping them safe. It’s the only choice you have. _

“If you’re out there, come home  _ please _ .” Garcia sounds like she’s crying, which only increases the frequency of Emily’s own tears. 

_ I can’t.  _

The pleas switch to anger, and back to angst. “You are not alone, Emily. We are in that dark place with you, waving flashlights and calling your name. If you can see us, come home. And if you can’t, then … then you stay alive. Cause we’re coming.” 

Through the tears she manages to breathe, because she knew they would come. She’s always known. But then she spots  _ him _ , lighting a cigarette leaving the Black Shamrock, and her angst turns to a steely determination in one quick breath. 

Emily stealthily slips from the car unseen and crosses the street, the automatic wielded in her hands. She opens fire on the jeep, throws the flash grenade. It’s almost too easy as she towers over the man coughing and sputtering on the hood of the car. “I only want Doyle. Where’s Doyle?” 

“Right here, love.” And before Emily can fire again, Ian gets her first, the well-aimed shot hitting square in her bulletproof vest. It’s a blow unlike any other, the equivalent of being hit with a hammer, and the force knocks the wind from her lungs and her legs from beneath her. When she comes to, laying on the sidewalk, staring up at the sky full of stars as the initial shock of the blow wears off, Ian is mere inches away. His fingers press right into what will most likely be a nasty dark bruise in a few hours, if she makes it that long. And in a voice so tender she thinks she may have imagined it, he murmurs, “Hello, love.” 

...

The plane is tense to say the least, the air thick and fraught with emotions emitting from each of them like sparks. They try to process the situation they’re about to walk into when they land in Boston, but there’s  _ no _ precedent for this kind of situation. 

Morgan is like a tempest, a storm of anger brewing beneath a controlled exterior. Reid tries to placate him by justifying Emily’s ruthless actions, which only seems to make things worse as he scowls. Aaron can’t tear his eyes away from the small screen on Garcia’s table showing Emily on the ground. Doyle is looming over her with a gun, his hands trailing over what has to be a bulletproof vest before she’s roughly hauled to her feet and shoved into the back of the SUV. She walked right into a trap, and now there’s no way of tracking her, no more surveillance footage to even give the slightest of leads.

There’s another complication now too, one they didn’t see coming - Clyde Easter. They need him to talk and he probably won’t, especially if he’s the one behind all of this, which is what they’re expecting **.** “I’ll handle that,” Aaron says tightly, knowing the second he sees the man he might rip him apart. “The rest of you focus on Doyle’s location.” They need  _ every _ bit of manpower they can scrape together, for time is already running out now that she’s in Doyle’s clutches. 

Penelope is the only one who dares to say what they’re all thinking, finally looking up from her screen. “How long does Emily have?”

“Her best chance is also the most troubling. Doyle saved her for last because he views her as his stressor. Which means he’ll take his time.” He can barely utter the words, knowing full well how badly this could go. “We’ll be on the ground in an hour. Take a few minutes. Prepare yourselves.” 

The plane dissolves into an uneasy silence a few moments later. 

**…**

The warehouse is cold and damp, the flickering light casting eerie shadows on the walls. But it’s familiar, because she’s been there before. Ian dismisses Liam shortly after they secure her to the chair, telling him to guard the doors, keep tabs on the rest of the men. “I think we need some time alone to get reacquainted,” he says in a soft, dangerous voice, and Emily shivers at the implications of his words.  _ Ian isn’t that kind of man, he’s never been that kind of man, but there’s no telling what he’ll do now. _

“Where’s my ring?” Ian’s hands ghost over her neck and through her hair. His touch is almost reverent, a reminder of all the times he’d caressed her skin with palms a little less rough than they are now. She’d always been fascinated by his hands - how they could cause so much destruction and damage, yet bring her so much pleasure and even comfort. She’d told him that once, she remembers the soft gleam in his eyes as he’d rounded his hand over her back as the other one drifted between her legs, pressing his mouth to hers.

From where her ankles and wrists are tightly bound to the chair, Emily lifts her chin defiantly as a chill runs down her spine. “I flushed it.” 

“I spent seven years in hell because of that ring.”

Emily shudders thinking of those seven years, everything he experienced, undeniably pure hell and nothing less. The signs that he’s hardened over the years are there. A few scars and lines here and there, his hair greyed, his hands even rougher than they were years before. He’s flicking the buttons of her shirt open now, revealing the smooth bare skin of her chest. “So now I’m going to give you another gift, one you won’t get rid of so easily. A four leaf clover should be a nice addition to your tattoo. You still have it?” 

She laughs nervously, an attempt to meet him at his own game yet it fails miserably, and she remembers the first night he saw it, the way he’d traced his thumb over it, his touch gentle and achingly precise. But the hum of the machine tells her just what he intends to do, bile rising in her throat when the dial turns orange, indicating it’s ready. 

“North Koreans can’t afford ink,” Ian says so calmly, with a chilling laugh. “No, no. They brand themselves.” He holds the pen to her chest, almost gently, as if he wants to hurt her but can’t quite bring himself to do so when he holds her still. “The more you fight, the more this will hurt.” 

The searing pain as her chest is burned is unlike anything she’s ever felt. Her own skin is scorched apart as the pen works over her, and she feels every inch and curve of the four leaf clover, a permanent reminder of him. The scream from her lips echoes through the empty, cold warehouse, but falls on deaf ears **.**

**...**

“I thought Emily was pregnant,” Aaron says through his exhaustion. His voice is tinged with misery, the burden of knowing the truth heavy, the fear of what awaits them in Boston even heavier. They’re able to take a few more quiet moments to gather their thoughts just before landing, and he’d sent the rest of the team to do just that. Of course, Dave had remained steadfast at his side, and Aaron isn’t even aware of what he’s saying until he sees the visible surprise on his friend’s face.

“I didn’t know you two were … trying,” Dave offers carefully, treading delicate waters, clearly unsure what to say next. 

“We weren’t exactly,” Aaron says tensely, wishing he hadn’t started this conversation in the first place. “But...that’s what I thought was going on. I even asked her about it. Look how wrong I was.” 

“Aaron. You know Emily better than that. Did you actually think she would tell you about this? Or any of us? She would never put any of us in danger and you know it. Or at least you should by now.” 

“We could have helped her. I saw the signs and didn’t want to think that something else was wrong. I didn’t want to push her away again.” He massages his forehead, the pressure in his head still all consuming.

“No one saw this coming, Aaron. Not you, hell, not even Emily. This part of her life was supposed to remain buried, you know. And had Doyle not escaped from prison, it would have.” Dave is the picture of calm, speaking rationally and evenly, yet Aaron knows all of this shocks him too. How could it not? 

“She lied to us, Dave. She lied to  _ me _ . Since the day she started here she lied, but especially now. None of this would have happened had she just trusted us.” 

Dave shakes his head, “You don’t know that, Aaron. We know what Doyle is capable of. Look how easily he took out her old team. Everything she did was to protect us. Protect you. Jack. Everyone.” He’s saying all the right things, yet nothing resonates. “What she did was out of love. Not an attempt to conceal the truth.”

“Do you think she’s scared?” He shouldn’t go there. He  _ can’t _ go there, but it’s where he keeps finding himself over and over. For as long as he’s known her, Emily has shown the world she’s invincible, fearless even, sometimes at a great expense to herself. But even Emily has a breaking point. 

Dave’s mouth presses into a thin line before he speaks, his tone laced with worry. “I think we need to get to Boston, Aaron. And we need to get there fast.” 

…

Clyde Easter stares at Aaron smugly from across the table. He’s one of the few who might know Emily as well as he does, the intimacy of their working relationship much different than, but in many ways similar to, their own. Clyde is representative of everything she’s kept hidden, and he still very well might be in this to betray them in the end. Being in the same room with him makes Aaron uncomfortable in a way he never saw coming. It feels too personal at best, invasive at worst, a clashing duel of blue eyes against brown. He sizes him up, repeats the very words he’d read in her file years ago. All the right buzzwords, the exact phrases needed to land her the job at the BAU. _How_ had no one pieced this together?

“You sold her to us the same way you sold Doyle to the North Koreans,” Aaron says bitterly as he flips through the file in his hands.

Clyde is purposefully obtuse, speaking in generalizations, giving them nothing. Aaron feels the seconds tick by one by one, each one less moment they have to find her. He offers a deal in exchange for cooperation, a tentative attempt at a truce between the two of them **.**

Yet he won’t take it, and Aaron can’t stay in that interrogation room a moment longer. “If anything happens to her, I will destroy you. You can count on that.” 

He’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

…

Emily’s agonizing screams have morphed into whimpers every few minutes. She’d nearly passed out before Ian had finished etching the clover into her skin. Her chest burns with an intensity she never felt before, but the smell is even worse. She doesn’t dare look down at it, afraid of what she might see.

“I told you if you fought it would hurt.” Ian leans over her and applies something to the wound with a tenderness she isn’t expecting, looking pleased with his handiwork. “What would  _ Aaron  _ think about your new addition?” He taunts her as he smooths a piece of matted hair from her damp forehead. 

“Leave him out of this.” Emily groans, the lingering smell of burning flesh hanging in the air making her nauseous. She wonders how long it’s been since they brought her here, how much longer he’ll keep her alive. “This is about you and me, Ian.” 

“If you insist, love.” The chair he places across from hers is mere inches away and he sits down, staring at her expectantly. Only after a few long moments does she realize he’s _remembering_ the past as she had done. “And what is it you do, _Lauren?”_ His tone is so gentle, the way he looks at her reminiscent of how he did years before. 

She plays right into his game. “I’m looking to get into business with a former IRA captain, who's gone freelance.” Emily remembers the words - the same ones from  _ years _ before, and the past bleeds with the present as she slips back into being Lauren Reynolds for maybe the last time. “Valhalla. But since this is time sensitive,” she slips into French, the words rolling off her tongue easily, “it might be better to discuss this privately.” 

His eyes all but soften before her own for a few brief seconds. “If I didn’t want to kill you with my bare hands,  _ Emily _ , I’d tell you I wanted to make love to you.” 

She smiles the way she imagines Lauren Reynolds would have many years ago, lowering her voice in a perfect French accent. “Then let me out of these. I can’t make you happy in handcuffs.” 

“You really think I’d let you fool me twice?” The gleam of his eyes disappears, replaced with a menacing coldness when he steps behind her, his hand digging into her shoulder. “You’re going to suffer the way I suffered. This won’t be the first time you’ve killed an innocent, but it will be the first time you’ve watched. Liam!” He bellows for his accomplice, who is back seconds later.

The computer in Liam’s hands means only one thing when she sees the distorted images of Dave and Ashley on the screen, a target on their backs. “This was about you and me, Ian.” Emily panics as Ian holds her still in the chair. “You and me.” 

“Then  _ why  _ is your team here?” Ian gets a hand in her hair and pulls, snapping her neck back at a painful angle. “I didn’t leave a trail.” 

“Whatever you want to do to me, I accept.  _ Leave them out of it, _ ” Emily pleads, but to no avail, as Liam mutters into his satellite phone **.** “Woman first, then the goateed fella. Then Fahey, if he has a shot. If not, he’ll shut up.” 

_ No _ **_._ **

“Shoot Fahey,” Emily spits before she can think twice. She’s never been more sure of anything. “If he dies, my team doesn’t have anything.” She cringes against his hands on her shoulders, her eyes closing in fear. Shooting him means they may never find her, but it doesn’t matter. This has gone far enough. 

The hands on her neck are more tender now, Ian’s seal of approval, and Emily can almost see his satisfied smile. “ _ Hello, Lauren. Good to see you again.” _

**...**

Fahey is shot dead on the roof and things start to fall apart before his own eyes. The man was their  _ one _ link to Doyle, the  _ one _ chance they had to find Emily before it’s too late. Aaron feels his resolve start to disintegrate as Dave breaks the news, only to then learn Clyde isn’t the mole at all. They  _ need _ his intel more than ever now, they  _ need _ his assistance.

“Someone we both care about is in trouble,” Aaron says when he sits down across from Clyde again for the second time. They both look weary, at the end of their collective ropes.

Yet he’s still not conceding.

“I need the original profile when Doyle was a terrorist. We combine that with who he is now as a serial killer.” 

His plea doesn’t fall on deaf ears this time when Clyde reluctantly agrees, with one stipulation. “There’s no catching that man,” he says quietly, with a hint of dismay Aaron hasn’t seen from him before **.** “He’d escape from your prisons as easily as he did North Korea. And then, all hell breaks loose. If you want to stop that man, you have to put a bullet between his eyes yourself.” 

It’s what Clyde isn’t saying that tells him what he needs to do, the only thing they  _ can _ do to end all of this. “Can you take an oath, Agent Hotchner? Can you swear that your team will save her?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then there’s something your team needs to know.” 

…

The final piece of the puzzle is one they never saw coming. 

Doyle has a child, a son. It makes sense, given the surgical-like precision of his recent murders, with no collateral damage. It fits his profile of a family annihilator, and Emily’s culpability in all of it.  _ She’d had a hand in the demise of his family, the closest thing he had to normalcy in this life. Of course he would seek the ultimate revenge.  _

“Declan Jones,” Garcia rambles as her fingers fly across the keys faster than she can speak. “His name is Declan Jones. I matched Irish immigration records based on Doyle’s employees. Settled in Boston, eight years ago shortly after Emily was taken out. His adoptive guardian is a Louse Jones.” 

“I knew Louise Jones. She was Doyle’s housekeeper,” Clyde says slowly. “She raised him as her own in Doyle’s villa. He was there consistently while Emily was undercover.” 

“But they went missing almost seven years ago and the bodies were never found.” 

“Of course they did. We made sure of this.” Clyde runs a hand across his bleary eyes. “The North Koreans would have destroyed Declan in a second had they known he belonged to Doyle.” His tone is icy, defensive. “ _ Emily _ wasn’t going to let that happen.” 

“So what did you do?” Aaron presses further, wondering if he even wants to know the truth. 

Clyde looks away. “That was Emily’s final mission.” 

…

What could be minutes feels like hours when she hears his boots on the concrete coming closer. The fatigue is starting to set in, her limbs aching and her body cold. 

“Game’s over, love. Time for your last confession.” It all comes down to this - the reason for his revenge. 

When Ian points the gun at her head, she almost wishes he would just pull the damn trigger as the tears well in her eyes. Of all the things she’s done in her life, the things she regrets, the ones that haunt her, this one might be the top of the list. It’s about time she paid the price. “Take me to where he died. I want to see it.” 

And when he bends down to untie her legs, the ropes digging roughly into her skin, Emily wonders if she truly deserves all of this, if this is how it’s supposed to end. The gun is pressed into her back when he shoves her through the narrow room, his hand wrapped tightly around her shoulder as he hisses in her ear. “I never told anyone the truth about Declan. You were the only one.” 

_ She’d betrayed him.  _

“For two years I didn’t talk. The North Koreans used everything you gave them against me.” He’s seething angry in her ear, his voice a mix of fury and pain, she can’t quite decipher between the two. “It wasn’t until they showed me these. They laughed at me as I wept.” 

Bile rises in her throat at the sight of the well-worn photograph, the one she’d taken herself. Even staged, looking at it makes her sick as he drags her across the floor. “That corner right there is where he died. And that’s where I’m going to kill you.” The draw of his gun, right in her face, and Emily knows this time he  _ means _ it when she collides with the concrete.  _ This  _ is his endgame. He has nothing left now. 

Through the ache in her body she lifts her face to stare right back at him, ready to reveal the truth. “There’s something you don’t know about those photos.” 

…

The photos make Aaron’s blood run cold. . 

The bodies of the woman and child- Doyle’s son- the terror in their faces.  _ This isn’t real _ , he reminds himself, as he stares at the person in black holding the gun, the familiar silhouette and the ragged fingernails he knows better than his own. He ignores the obvious connection he immediately feels to the boy, an image of Jack invading his mind.  _ God, Emily, how did this go so far?  _

But the photos are a lie, nothing more than a fallacy to protect a child facing the unfathomable. Her final act had been one of great risk, yet she’d risked it all to ensure that boy was safe. A child that was not her own yet could have been, one she’d loved as she loves  _ his _ son. Everything she’d done in Boston is eerily similar to what she’s doing now. Ensuring the safety of those she loves. A final act, a willingness to sacrifice herself more than once. 

It gives them a location - an address of a warehouse in the middle of Boston, large enough to hold a small army - and as they make the final plans to find her, Aaron can’t help but wonder if it will be too late. 

…

Ian’s fury is matched only by his grief, yet his hands don’t move as the gun stays pointed right in her face. “You put him in your profile, didn’t you?” 

“The things they would have done to Declan to get you to talk,” Emily pleads, remembering the anguish she’d felt for the boy as Ian had been arrested that day in Tuscany as she was dragged into an SUV. “They were going to find him eventually. I had to end his suffering. Before it could begin.” 

The hand that strikes her across the face is merciless, snapping her head to the side and slicing her cheek open as the blood drips warmly down her jaw. “What did you do?” 

“I put him in the profile,” she gasps, “after the photos were taken.”

“You don’t know when they were taken. You don’t know that.” He sounds like a madman, blinded by his own emotions, his entire persona stripped down to nothing more than a man and his torment. 

“Yes I do. I’m the one holding the gun,” she hisses, the final truth lifted like a heavy weight from her shoulders, the truth finally spoken.

He explodes, attacking her with an unbridled wrath and a wail of sorrow. Her body hits the wall and then the ground face first, her restrained hands taking most of the blow. Emily gasps, still seeing stars as the pain radiates through her chest. “You want to hear his last words to me?” She’s taunting him, and when his foot connects with her chest, her vision blurs as something in her chest pops - a broken rib, no doubt. “I looked pretty good for a dead kid, didn’t I? And then he got on the plane and I never saw him again.” Emily pants through the intense pain that shoots through her chest, making it hard to think, let alone breathe.

“He’s  _ alive?” _

_ Another rib snapped. _

_ “ _ Just because I held a gun to him doesn’t mean I shot him. I only had to make you and the North Koreans believe he was dead.” It’s getting harder and harder to breathe; it’s only going to get worse. She coughs, struggling to get air into her lungs.

With brute force Ian throws her against the wall. “I know you’re lying,” he roars, pinning her again as he goes for his gun _.  _

But with a strength she didn’t know she had, Emily knocks the weapon from his hands and drags him down to the ground in a chokehold, her cuffed wrists under his chin. It gives her the upper hand even as Ian uses all of his strength against her, a fight to the very end. “I beat you Ian, before you even got out of North Korea. I beat you because I gave Declan his life back.” In her grasp she feels his strength waning.  _ Not much longer _ .

“I’ll find him.” 

_ No you won’t. I made sure of that. _   
  


The warehouse plunges into an unsettling, chilling darkness as she reaches for the wooden rod on the ground, striking him across the face a few times. But in the end, he’s too quick, and it’s too late. Like a spear, the rod plunges right into her abdomen, splitting through her insides, ripping her apart. As the world starts to spin and she sinks to the ground, the last thing Emily sees are two blue eyes glaring into her own as he pleads for his son. 

She’ll never tell him. She made a promise years ago.

…

“Agent Prentiss is our only friendly in the building. Rescuing her is our primary objective.”  _ There’s no other objective _ , Aaron thinks as he fastens the vest over around his waist and tries to conceal his shaking hands.

“Our only advantage here is stealth. Once they know we’re on site, there’s nothing to stop them from killing her.” Beside him, Morgan is a rock, his poise the only thing giving him any sense that this will go as planned. The fear brewing in his chest is consuming and constant, an ache that never dissipates. And before they leave, Clyde grabs him by the sleeve, and what’s in his blue eyes is a mirror of what’s in his own. “Bring her back, Agent Hotchner. Please.” 

The trip to the warehouse is silent, not a word said between any of them as the chain of SUV’s moves through the streets. Right before they’re about to advance, Aaron glances up to the night sky, and then at Morgan, who gives the final go ahead.

The initial attack is swift and perfectly executed, taking out the two men guarding the front entrance with hardly a sound. Aaron barely breathes as the doors are thrown open, revealing a few more of Doyle’s men guarding the halls with automatic weapons in their hands. They’re quickly neutralized, falling to the floor in a heap. The warehouse sinks into darkness once the power is cut, and in the silence he can hear the sound of fighting, muffled grunts, the unmistakable shatter of broken glass. Yet in the dark, open space, it’s almost impossible to tell where it’s coming from.

Morgan goes one way towards the basement, leading a group of agents behind him and around him like a protective shield. Aaron takes the other half, sending the agents to sweep the rest of the rooms on the first floor in silence. It’s a sprawling warehouse, with multiple levels, and they’re running out of time. They have to split up. 

Moments later, the figure emerges from around the corner, whatever light is left illuminating his face in ghostly shadows, and Aaron finds himself face to face with Ian Doyle. The blue eyes that stare back at him are shining, yet there’s blood dripping from his nose and lip, his face covered in a pattern of cuts and scrapes, large and small, that mean one thing - Emily had fought back against him **.** From the looks of it, she’d fought him like hell. He’s limping too, weakened by the brawl they undoubtedly had, his leg twisted at an angle that renders running all but impossible. 

“Doyle, stop.” Aaron points his gun right at him without flinching, his voice menacing yet steady. “Turn around and put your hands up.” His heart all but stops yet it isn’t fear he feels. It’s pure anger and retaliation for the hell he’d put her through, what he’d taken from her in those years, the burden he left her to bear afterwards.

“You’re too late, you know.” 

Aaron’s throat tightens, both hands on his gun. “It’s  _ over _ , Ian. The building is surrounded. You have nowhere to go.” 

“You’re too late.” He rasps again, and Aaron watches Doyle slowly reach behind him with a subtlety only years of experience have trained him for. “She’s -” 

Aaron pulls the trigger once, hitting Doyle squarely in the calf of the leg that isn’t wounded. He falls with a resounding thud and a howl of pain when his body collapses against concrete, writhing on the ground. The gun hidden in his belt flies out of his hand with a clatter, landing too many feet away. He’ll never be able to reach it, and Aaron steps closer, one foot in front of the other, until he’s standing right above the man.

“I wanted you to be there when I killed her, you know.” He laughs through the pain, a chilling sound that echoes through the air, and Aaron knows how serious he is. “I told her you’d be there to watch her die. Maybe I’ll get my wish after all.” 

And then Aaron kneels down, his fist immediately connecting with Doyle’s nose, a sickening crunch indicating nothing less than a broken septum. His knuckles tear with effort yet he barely feels it as he punches him again, and then again, feeling the bones in the other man’s face shatter with every blow. He’s covered in blood, some his own but most of it Doyle’s, his arm numb with effort.

“She’s going to die,” Ian rasps, spitting out a few teeth and a mouthful of blood, through a groan of pain. “I made sure of that.” His face is a swollen, bloody mess, misshapen and disfigured, yet his eyes are still two ice blue orbs that refuse to diminish. 

_ If you want to stop that man, you need to put a bullet between his eyes.  _

“Not if I kill you first.” 

Aaron hears Clyde’s words from before, and this time doesn’t hesitate when he rises to his feet, lifting his weapon once more. He fulfills the promise he made mere hours before, pulling the trigger of his gun without a second thought. 

...

“I got her! Basement on the South Side!” Morgan’s voice echoes into the speaker in his ear, bouncing off the walls of the warehouse as Aaron is suddenly again cognizant of what’s around him, even though his ears are ringing, his head spinning as he lowers his weapon. There’s shouting in the distance, something that sounds like Derek pleading, before he yells, “I need a medic!” There’s a shade of panic Aaron has never heard from him before, so he leaves Doyle on the ground in a mess of blood and unidentifiable fluids.  _ Let him rot there _ , Aaron thinks as the first few agents hurry past him, hurrying to secure Doyle.

What awaits him moments later will haunt him for the rest of his days, something that all but freezes him in place while sending him into another blind white rage. Emily lays on the ground, surrounded by the obvious signs of a struggle - an overturned, broken chair, bent metal, a few old computer monitors smashed to the floor, some wooden boards and broken glass. 

“Hotch, get out of here. Get  _ out _ of here!” Morgan tries in vain to shield Emily from his view without any success. Aaron all but shoves him aside, dropping to his knees and surveying the horrific mess in front of him, suppressing the urge to vomit right there. Doyle had spared her nothing, inflicted the most amount of suffering he possibly could. It’s clear she’s been beaten, her face a mess of cuts and bruises clearly from an unrelenting fist. But what he can’t tear his eyes from is the wooden stake that protrudes from her abdomen, blood pouring out from it at a rate that makes his stomach roil.

_ Oh my God.  _ He is rendered helpless, completely immobilized by it all yet unable to look away. “Emily!” He’s yelling her name, hunched over her. They need to keep her conscious and talking. If they can just do that, there’s a chance. A small one. “ _ Emily!”  _

But she’s sickly pale, clearly in shock, and Aaron looks around helplessly, knowing they won’t be able to wait much longer.

“Get him out of here!” Morgan bellows louder this time. “Someone get him out of here. Where’s the  _ fucking _ medic?” 

Before them, both Emily’s eyes flutter closed and open again, her strength waning as the blood continues to spill from her abdomen. “Aaron,” she whispers, her eyes terrified, the blood staining through her fingers. 

“Dont,” he says, trying to pull her hands away from the impaling wound, choking on air when he sees even  _ more _ blood come to the surface. “Just relax,” he says shakily, his own terror multiplying with every ragged breath he draws, sweat starting to pour down his back. “You’re gonna be alright. I’m right here. Talk to me, Emily.” 

“I’m so …cold,” she wheezes, momentarily aware of what’s happening as the building is swarmed with agents, the shouting becoming a deafening noise over her weakening voice. “Aaron, I’m sorry.” There are tears streaming down her cheeks, reflecting like ice cubes on her face, growing whiter by the passing seconds. “For everything.” 

“Stop,” he all but yells, maybe if he does, she’ll stay alert and with him. “Keep your eyes on me, Emily. Please don’t close your eyes.” From behind him he can hear the ambulance sirens approaching, and more agents closing in on the warehouse. “I know everything, Emily. I know why you did all of this.” The words pour from his mouth, he’s running out of time before she loses consciousness, which is inevitable at this point. “I’m so proud of you sweetheart, do you understand that?.” 

Realization floods her face, another brief moment of clarity before her eyes drift shut again. “Doyle - where is Doyle?” She groans in pain, coughing and sputtering. “You can’t let him get away.” Every word takes more effort than the last, every breath a struggle.

“He’s dead, Emily. Doyle is dead.” His hand goes to her hair, her beautiful hair, one of the few things left relatively unscathed, his fingers running through the tangled, matted strands. “It’s over. You don’t have to fight him anymore. You got him.” He shakes his head, cupping her bloody cheeks in his own blood-stained hands as her eyes struggle to stay open. “No, sweetheart, no. _Don’t_ close your eyes. Look at me. Come on, Emily. _Please_.” 

“I love ... Aaron.” It’s mixed with a cry of pain, the cloud of unconsciousness becoming harder and harder to fight; it’s easier to just close her eyes now. Her breathing is labored, the sweat beading on her forehead.

“Please, God, no,” Aaron croaks, his hands still wrapped around hers, cuffed at the wrists. Her grip weakens, her fingers like ice as the light fades from her face. “I’ll never let you go. I love you. Oh my God, no.” There are tears falling now, his dripping down onto her face, mixing with the blood and her own. “Please, no.” He’s pleading and begging now, praying for the first time in years, and while the words feel strange, he prays harder than he ever thought possible.

“I love you, Aaron. I’m so sorry.” The words die on her lips as her eyes narrow into slits, and there’s the sound of boots scraping concrete behind him, the clunk of a medical bag next to him. 

“Agent, you need to step away,” one of the medics says curtly, not even bothering to hide the shock on his face when he steps around Aaron. “Now.” He drops to Emily’s side, immediately wrapping a blood pressure cuff around her arm and attaching a pulse monitor to her finger. Aaron is still on his knees, at an arm’s length away, listening to the beep of the machine. It’s the only thing he’s aware of, the indicator that she’s still breathing, that she’s still alive.

“Be careful,” Aaron chokes when they start to work, assessing her injuries and rattling off a long string of medical jargon - numbers and acronyms that make little sense. And while he doesn’t quite understand what’s being said, he’s been doing this enough to know it doesn’t sound good.

“Come on, Hotch. Let them do their job.” Morgan all but pulls him to his feet because his legs won’t work on their own just yet. “We’ll drive to the hospital. Right behind them the whole time. Let’s go.” 

“Please hurry,” he demands without a touch of objectivity in his voice. There’s no hiding his apparent distress, the exact opposite of what a unit chief should be, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe it never did. “You have to hurry.” 

The other medic, his name tag reads  _ B _ .  _ Seymour _ , Aaron notices -one of the few things he’s actually aware of - gives them both a quick yet sympathetic, understanding look from where he’s kneeling by Emily’s side. “We’ll take good care of her, Agent. I promise.” He tries to sound reassuring but he too just looks grim, and Aaron’s heart starts to erode in his own chest in fractionated, jagged pieces as Morgan drags him away from Emily. 

The cold night air and darkness greet them like a foreboding sense of what’s to come, a cacophony of lights and sirens surround the warehouse as the building is swarmed with agents and officers. Yet Aaron sees none of them, can barely see what’s right in front of him as Morgan throws open the passenger side to one of the SUV’s. 

“We’re going to have to bypass the perimeter.” 

“Then do it,” he croaks as the engine roars to life, and only when he fastens his seatbelt does he see the blood staining his hands. His, Emily’s, Doyle’s - it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s everywhere - his face, his hands, his clothes - crusted over by now, a dark shade of crimson.

Aaron keeps his eyes fixated on the lights and sirens of the ambulance in front of them speeding through the streets. He doesn’t dare look away from it. And while Morgan is easily going too many miles over the speed limit, they aren’t moving fast enough as time all but stands still. As they pull into the main entrances of the hospital, the buildings a sprawling, towering structure of lights, the sound of the siren becomes deafening and the lights blinding, he closes his eyes and bows his head as the tears well in his eyes **.**

_ If you want to stop that man, you need to put a bullet between his eyes.  _

_ Bring her home, Agent Hotchner. _

He’d fulfilled the oath he made to Clyde. That should be enough. He’d found and killed another monster, as he’s done for a third of his life. Aaron put a bullet between the eyes of the man that hunted Emily down from the near ends of the earth, the man that sought to destroy her. But it’s the second request that haunts him, because once she disappears behind those hospital doors, there’s a strong chance she might never come out. 


	44. Forty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She isn’t sure whose heart will shatter first come morning when the only thing left to say is goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, friends, here we are for the second to last chapter! It feels surreal to write that, and I’ll be honest, the thought of it ending makes me so sad. I remember posting this back in August wondering if anyone would actually read it, but also if I would ever actually finish it. Thank you all so very much for the sweet words and love on chapter 43 - it was one of my favorites to write. I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting so long for this one. I hit the wall hard after 43 and life really got in the way, so this took much longer than anticipated. I hope you enjoy it. And another special thank you to AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell for reading the multiple drafts, dealing with my chaos, the encouragement, and for sharing your genius along the way. 

**Chapter 44** : The Devil’s Arcade

_ Rising from a long night as dark as the grave,  _

_ On a thin chain of next moments and something like faith _

_ On a morning to order, a breakfast to make _

_ A bed draped in sunshine, a body that waits _

_ For the touch of your fingers, the end of a day _

_ The beat of your heart, the beat of her heart _

Aaron is halfway out of the SUV before Morgan has a chance to park as they reach the emergency underpass. By now the skies have opened - a soft, but cold rain that bathes everything in an eerie, misty glow. It’s the first thing he’s aware of besides the deafening sirens ahead of him as the ambulance comes to a stop. It’s dark but the lights are blinding, a disorienting juxtaposition, the massive building rising above his head like a fortress **.** Aaron all but throws the door open, leaping out of the passenger seat in a mad dash toward the emergency entrance. He’s still wearing his bulletproof vest. His clothes, hands, and face stained with blood and dirt. His shirt is ripped in several places, the collar almost torn off but it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters now.

“Hotch!” Morgan is yelling after him, but he hardly hears a word as the medics open the ambulance doors. They’re greeted by a small army of doctors in scrubs and a few nurses standing at the ready, clearly having been briefed for Emily’s arrival, and as she’s carefully moved to the stretcher, he can hear their voices, undoubtedly full of alarm. He can see her dark hair spilling over the top of the stretcher, the  _ fucking _ wooden stake still protruding from her abdomen. The medics hadn’t dared to remove it along the way, and seeing it makes him nauseous all over again. “We’re going to need an OR,” one doctor shouts, as another barks an order for an ultrasound, then something about multiple rib fractures, and Aaron stops dead in his tracks, the sight in front of him . There’s the hum of a monitor followed by the sharp, commanding voices that punctuate the air. 

His legs nearly give out beneath him as the rain soaks his clothes; he’s never felt so helpless or alone or  _ afraid _ , even surrounded by so many people whose  _ very job _ is to save her life.  _ He wants to tell them to be careful, that she’s lost a lot of blood, that she’s probably -  _

“Sir, you need to back up.” The officer posted at the entrance strides toward him, cutting off his line of thought and purposefully putting space between Aaron and the team that’s assembled around Emily. “This area is for hospital staff only.” His ears ring yet he can hear their voices shouting frantically, and he cranes his neck to keep a watchful eye.  _ If he can just keep his eyes on her _ , he reasons, _ it’ll be okay _ . He knows it’s wishful thinking at best.

“I’m with the FBI,” Aaron fumbles around his neck for his credentials, flashing his badge in the other man’s face to no avail. “She’s a federal agent.” 

The officer shakes his head, widening his stance to block Aaron from moving any closer as his face softens just a shade “I’m sorry, Agent. You’re going to have to go through the triage nurse and wait in the waiting room. I can’t let you through here.” 

“Where are they taking her?” Aaron demands as the stretcher is wheeled through the doors They all but ignore him, and the intensity of which they go to work is the first sign of hope he has, yet the pit in his stomach continues to grow. “Where are they taking her?” He’s numb, unaware of anything else except that they’re disappearing further from his line of sight.

“I’ll show you to the triage entrance.” 

The medic from earlier, Seymour, Aaron remembers, is suddenly at his side, wearing the same grim expression from before. Aaron notices blood on his clothes that wasn’t there before. “She’s in good hands here, Agent. These are some of the best doctors I know. If anyone can get her through this, it’s those people right there.” He jerks his head in the direction of the doors, and while he’s trying to sound hopeful, it’s the look on his face Aaron can’t tear his eyes away from. The medic looks worn and drained, shell shocked even. “Known them for a long time.” 

He manages to utter a strangled thank you along with a half-hearted attempt of a handshake. By now, Morgan has parked and is hurrying towards them through the rainy mist, his face twisted into a worried scowl. “Where is she?” 

“Inside,” Aaron chokes, failing at words and the only thing he can do is point in the direction of the Emergency entrance. 

Morgan knows what he’s trying to say, and immediately takes off in the other direction, practically dragging Aaron along behind him. “Come on.” 

They make it through the hospital doors and into the crowded waiting room toward the triage entrance. Morgan is at his side when Aaron promptly dry heaves right into a trash can, his back clenching with effort. He ignores the stares from those waiting in the plastic chairs as he coughs, drawing air into his lungs even though even the sole act of breathing feels too painful. 

“He’s alright.” Morgan waves off the duo of nurses headed in their direction with a wheelchair. “Could we just get water, please?” 

“I’m fine,” Aaron says weakly, his stomach churning as he stares down the long, winding hallway into the depths of the hospital. “Where did they take her?” He nods in appreciation when someone passes a cup of water in his direction. It then dawns on him it’s been hours since he’s eaten or drank anything. Not that he could if he wanted to. “Where is she?” His question isn’t directed at anyone in particular.  _ Why isn’t anyone answering?  _ He thinks.

“They’re working on her, Hotch. Drink the damn water.” Morgan is insistent, yet he looks just as worried even if he’s doing his best to hide it. “There’s nothing we can do right now.” 

“Sir, would you like to get cleaned up?” The nurse who brought the water is hovering beside them, keeping a careful eye on Aaron **.** “There’s a private restroom just down the hall. We can bring you something to change into.” Her eyes are kind, her tone gentle, as if she’s seen this before. _ It’s all just part of a day’s work to her, _ he thinks miserably. 

He stares at the woman, who can’t be more than twenty-five years old, blankly, as if he doesn’t understand what she’s saying. “I - I can’t,” Aaron stutters, having forgotten all about the mess that is his clothes and hands. “Not until I know she’s - “ He can’t bring himself to even think about taking off the vest. “Not until she -” The words just won’t come. 

“We’re okay, thank you.” Morgan says calmly, forcing an appreciative half-smile at the nurse. “Is there a waiting room somewhere?” Aaron hears him give her Emily’s name, and she nods slowly, eyes widening with understanding. 

“Let me see what I can do for you.”

When they’re alone again, Aaron finds himself staring at the wall as his ears ring, watching the seconds painfully tick by. Every minute that passes feels like an hour, his mind consumed with thoughts of what’s happening not too far away.

“Here.” Morgan passes him a pack of gum, and his eyes linger on Aaron’s bloodstained hands for a moment too long while reaching into his pocket. “I’m going to call the others. Let them know we’re here.” The slump of his shoulders tells Aaron just how badly he’s struggling too, crippled under the weight of his own emotions as the toll mounts.  _ If only we’d gotten there sooner. If only they’d pushed Clyde a little harder. If only -  _ The scenarios run through his mind like an endless loop, Doyle’s words haunting him.  _ She’s going to die _ .  _ I made sure of that _ .  _ You’re too late.  _

Maybe Doyle was right all along.

But soon enough, the nurse takes them to a private waiting room, tucked deep within the hospital, murmuring something about waiting for a doctor to come with an update. Aaron can’t even begin to comprehend waiting for much longer, but waiting is all they can do. He sinks into a chair by the door, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. 

Some time later, Dave ushers the remaining few of the team into the private waiting room like a chaperone, with JJ trailing behind.  _ When did they all get there?  _ Then he remembers Morgan had called them. Aaron doesn’t miss the furtive, strained glance Dave throws in JJ’s direction as he closes the door, surveying the room without saying a word. Everyone looks worse for wear, their faces pale and tired, the culmination of the last few days a heavy burden on them all. 

“Any word yet?” Dave asks quietly, and Morgan only shakes his head before shifting his gaze back to the floor. There’s nothing to be said, nothing they can do except be together, and  _ wait.  _ Aaron watches the clock on the wall, the hands barely moving, and spends a few moments observing his team. Time has shown him just how differently they process and handle situations, their own coping mechanisms as unique as each of them. Yet this time, they’re all silent, their eyes blank and minds full, lost in the same version of hellish limbo. Besides the occasional heavy sigh, hardly a word is spoken between them.

Someone - Penelope, most likely, but he wasn’t paying attention- presses a cup of coffee into his hands and while he’s grateful for something to hold, the liquid is too hot and it just burns through his palms. He can’t sit still but any movement makes it hard to breathe, and as the clock strikes, signifying the start of a new day, gently announcing midnight’s arrival, the door of the waiting room opens, revealing a harried doctor in the threshold. “You’re the agents here for Emily Prentiss? I’m Dr. Monahan **.** I’m one of the attendings who saw her upon arrival.” 

“We are.” Aaron swallows and rises to his feet, taking the lead before Dave can even think about stepping in. “How is she?” 

Dr. Monahan wrings her hands, rests them on her hips with a heavy breath. “It’s not looking good, Agent.” 

The words are like the cold stab of a knife, like being drowned in ice water. He hears what this doctor is saying, yet he doesn’t believe her - he can’t bring himself to believe or accept it. “What do you … what are you saying?” 

“Agent Prentiss’s injuries are serious. She lost a significant amount of blood and we’ve had a hard time keeping her vitals stable. There was internal bleeding and significant trauma to her liver and spleen from the impalement, along with several broken ribs from the beating she endured. She suffered a second degree burn - it appears as if she was branded on the chest. We’re taking her up to surgery to repair whatever damage we can and get the bleeding under control **.** She flatlined shortly after we brought her in, but we were able to revive her. Her body has endured a significant amount of stress, and she is very weak.”

Aaron feels the color drain from his face at the news, and he chokes on his own words as JJ comes to his other side. She and Dave might be the only reason he’s still standing on two feet at this point. “What are her chances?” 

The doctor rubs a hand over her face, offering a sympathetic look. “We need to get her upstairs to get the bleeding under control. If she makes it through the surgery, we should consider it a miracle. Her injuries are severe. You should prepare yourselves.”

Beside him, JJ’s hands fly to her face, covering her mouth in shock and fear. Aaron hears the hushed gasp from Garcia and then a sob as she wails in Morgan’s arms. Ashley hugs her legs a little tighter to her chest and Dave turns around, facing the window with a fist pressed to his mouth. 

“If Agent Prentiss has any family, you might want to give them a call.” 

_ We are her family _ , Aaron thinks, his throat thickening. And yet it’s the Ambassador’s face he sees, remembering the words Emily had written in her letter about her mother. Even years later, he understands her request, and as the doctor leaves, turning on her heel and quietly closing the door, he reaches into his pocket for his phone. 

“Go,” Dave says quietly, having sat down next to a visibly shocked Ashley, a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’re ok for a little while. Do what you need to do”

There’s a quiet hallway right by the waiting room, and in the darkness, Aaron stares at the phone in his hands. It might not even be the right number, and it’s _so_ late at night he wonders if anyone is even awake to answer the line, but he dials the number he has saved from a few years ago, holding his breath when the call connects with the dial tone in his ear. 

“This is the office of Ambassador Prentiss.” The clipped voice on the other line is familiar, yet Aaron can’t quite place it. 

“I need to speak to Ambassador Prentiss immediately.” 

“I’m going to need to ask who is calling, please.” Whoever it is does  _ not _ sound pleased at his request. 

“This is Special Agent Aaron Hotchner.” 

The voice on the other line pauses. “Aaron? This is Olivia.” 

_ Olivia _ . The Ambassador’s assistant from  _ years _ ago.  _ She still works for Emily’s mother? _ He remembers her perfectly, including the day she had a front row seat to his resignation in the Ambassador’s office while Emily pleaded with them both, indignant, embarrassed, and angry. The memory deepens the fissure in his chest, and he’s suddenly aware of Olivia saying his name repeatedly. 

“Aaron? Are you there? What can I do for you?”

“I’m here. I … didn’t realize you were still working for the Ambassador.

“I’m her Chief of Staff now. What can I do for you at this hour?” She sounds concerned now, and just a touch annoyed at the sudden late night phone call. 

“I need to speak to the Ambassador immediately. It’s regarding Emily.” 

…

“Ambassador Prentiss is taking a private flight to Boston in three hours. She’ll be here in the morning.” Aaron makes the announcement to the rest of the group, anxiously awaiting an update. By now, it’s after one, and the hospital is nearly silent except for the occasional alarm or PA announcement, and another uneasy silence has fallen over them in the waiting room. 

“How is the Ambassador?” Dave asks from his spot beside Aaron some time later, when the rest of them have dozed off in the uncomfortable chairs. There’s a crossword puzzle and pen in his hands yet he hasn’t actually looked at it. Instead, he’s flicking the pen cap around his fingers over and over, an attempt to occupy himself that is clearly unsuccessful. 

“What do you think, Dave? Aaron rests his head against the wall, replaying the conversation he’d had with Emily’s mother in his mind. She’d been, as he expected, uncharacteristically shaken, her sharp facade all but unraveled. He heard her voice crack as she explained she would be in Boston within a few hours before thanking him, the phone cutting out before he could even mumble a response. 

“Have you thought about what you’re going to tell Ambassador Prentiss when she arrives?” 

“Where do you suppose I start, Dave? Should I start by telling her Emily’s time in Europe _wasn’t_ actually spent exploring and traveling, but that instead she fell in love with a terrorist while working as an undercover operative? Do I tell her _why_ she ran to Europe in the first place?” He stiffens at the sound of his own voice, careful not to wake Reid and Garcia, still sleeping, looking less than comfortable in their chairs. “What if she’s too late? Then what?”

Dave is silent, a slight wince crossing his face. “Start with the truth, Aaron. And go from there.” 

…

_ Emily made it through surgery _ . 

The five words that come from the surgeon’s lips are all Aaron hears when they’re given an update after almost five hours of waiting. There’s a palpable, collective sigh of relief from each of them, even as the surgeon gently explains that despite the good news, Emily isn’t quite out of the woods yet. 

“Agent Prentiss is still heavily sedated,” the surgeon explains carefully, using layman's terms as she walks them through the events of the procedures and remarkable measures they’d taken to save Emily’s life. “She’ll stay that way for several more hours until the anesthesia wears off. She lost a significant amount of blood, but the surgery was successful. We were able to get the bleeding under control, although we did have to remove her spleen. But she is very lucky. Had the injury been a few centimeters over, we would be having a very different conversation.” 

Aaron visibly pales, and beside him, JJ puts a reassuring hand on his arm. “But she’s going to pull through?” 

“There’s still the risk of infection and bleeding, due to the nature of her injuries. It’s likely she’ll need a skin graft at some point because of the burn. We’re going to watch her very closely for the next few hours. But this is a good sign.” Emily’s surgeon smiles for the first time since coming to greet them. “It’s good news. The best news I could possibly give you.” 

“Can we see her?” JJ asks hopefully, sounding a bit more optimistic than he is. He’s waiting for someone to yank the sliver of hope right out of his hands. 

“One visitor is allowed to go in for a short period of time.” She pauses for a moment before continuing, “I’ll send a nurse down once we have her situated and comfortable.” 

It’s not even a question amongst them that one visitor will be Aaron. 

…

“She can hear you,” the nurse who’d introduced himself as Andy shows him into Emily’s room, checking one of the many monitors near her bed. He scribbles something on a clipboard and notices Aaron’s hesitancy. “So talk to her. Let her know you’re here.” He’s encouraging, and his presence is comforting, as if reminding him Emily is in good hands.

Aaron nods thickly, sitting down stiffly in the chair next to Emily’s bed. She looks so small laying there, the amount of tubes and wires she’s attached to make him nauseous, the rhythmic beeping of the ventilator an invasive interruption to any coherency he might scrape together. It’s the first time he’s been alone since he’d read her letter in his office, he realizes, as he checks his watch. Pushing 6 AM. The adrenaline has long worn off and he’s left with an overwhelming sense of emptiness laced with fear, even as he tries to remember the doctor’s words. Making it through surgery had been only one of many hurdles, and judging by the amount of machines surrounding her, there’s still a ways to go. 

“You can touch her,” Andy says, noticing Aaron’s hesitancy, offering a kind smile. “It won’t hurt her.” He checks another monitor, pushing a few buttons before making another note on the chart. “I’ll give you a few minutes alone. If you need anything, just yell.” 

“Thank you,” Aaron says gratefully with the best attempt of a smile he can manage. When the door closes behind him, he takes a deep, shaky breath and reaches for her hand. He’s extra careful to avoid the tube that’s taped to the back, knowing just how much she would _hate_ that if she were awake and conscious. “Hey,” he says, instantly feeling ridiculous, yet he remembers the nurse’s words. 

_ She can hear you _ . Yet he barely knows where or how to start. 

“Everyone’s here, you know,” Aaron begins, lacing his fingers gingerly through her cold ones. “We’re all waiting for you to … to wake up. You scared us all. Especially me.” His vision blurs and his voice cracks on its own accord. “What the hell were you thinking, Emily?” And for the first time since everything had simultaneously fallen apart and into place, it’s anger he feels. “Why couldn’t you have trusted me? Haven't I done enough to earn your trust over the years?”

He knows the answer, of course, and just how deep all of _ this _ runs - another layer of complicated history, and for the first time, understands the significance of his own complicity in all of it. “I read your letter,” he continues, voice shaking. “I should have known. I should have known how badly you were hurting then, and what you were willing to do to escape it all.” He loosens his grip on her fingers, moves to brush her hair from her eyes. By now it’s limp and stringy, matted to her forehead.  _ She’d probably hate that too. _ “I know why you never told me.” He’s babbling at this point, the words coming faster than he can process as a single tear drips down his cheek then one from the other eye. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

The mechanical rhythm of the monitors, the ones essentially keeping her alive, remind him they’re  _ still  _ in this mess, that even though she’s stable she’s not out of the woods, that it could all still go terribly wrong. 

“I really just need you to wake up, Emily. I need you to hear this.” Another ragged breath is painful as the tears flow freely from his eyes. It feels strangely human to cry, even if it’s not the first time in hours that he has. “I can’t do this without you. I don’t want to do this without you, Emily. I … I love you. I still want to grow old with you.” He bows his head, elbows resting on the sides of her bed, and for the first time in as long as he can remember, Aaron prays. 

True to his word, Andy is back a little while later. “Agent,” he says quietly. “One of your colleagues is looking for you. Her surgeon will be in soon, to check on a few things. She’ll have an update for you after that.”

_ The team _ . He’d almost forgotten about all of them in the hour that’s passed. Aaron nods, gently unwinding his hand from Emily’s and giving her one long look before rising to his feet. Except it takes him two tries to actually steady himself, and Andy glances at him from the other side of the bed. “There’s a cafeteria down the hall, if you want a cup of coffee or something to eat. Can’t promise it’ll taste good, but you can give it a shot.” He must notice Aaron’s dismal stare, because his face softens. “She’ll be okay for a little while, Agent. Her vital signs are stable **.** That’s good. Plus, I’m not going anywhere for awhile.” 

Aaron nods gratefully, yet every step toward the door is excruciatingly painful. From the hallway windows, he can see the sun is starting to rise, the dawn of another day, and the events from the one before seem like a distant memory at this point. Today will be all about the aftermath - an exhausting barrage of phone calls, cleaning up the mess from the night before, and of course, the arrival of the Ambassador. He makes a mental note to call Jessica too, and wonders what he’ll even say to her, let alone his son. 

Dave is waiting for him by the windows, a styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand. “You might want to get yourself cleaned up. Emily’s mother should be here soon. Something tells me she won’t take well to that.” He gestures toward Aaron’s clothes, looking even worse than he did when Aaron left the waiting room, and it’s abundantly clear he hasn’t gotten any sleep. 

“I … my bag is … “ He runs a hand down his face, the whereabouts of his go bag completely unknown. But Dave has a point - he’s still wearing the same stained clothes from the night before. 

“Morgan’s got it taken care of. He left soon after you went to be with Emily.” 

“Thanks,” Aaron mutters, staring out the huge wall of windows absentmindedly, watching the fiery sky change colors as the sun rises higher. “How is everyone?” 

“As you can expect. We’re surviving.” He takes a sip from the cup and grimaces. “This coffee is awful. Even the sludge back at Quantico is better than this.” 

“It’s hospital coffee, Dave. What did you expect?” 

“Something better than this. It’s like … dirty water.” 

“Sounds appealing.” 

“And Emily?” 

Aaron sighs. “The same. Stable, but critical.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, warding off the headache that hasn’t fully left since this mess began. “There’s still the risk of infection and she isn’t conscious yet.”

Dave nods his head in understanding, and gives a glimmer of hope Aaron needs to hear. “She made it through the night, Aaron. Let’s count that as a win.”

It takes him a full five minutes to process the fact that Dave might be right. 

…

Aaron isn’t sure what he’s expecting when his former boss arrives at the hospital. Even in the current circumstances, the Ambassador is the definition of composed, yet the paleness of her face and dark circles under her eyes tell the real story. He immediately recognizes the woman at her side as Olivia, who looks as if she hasn’t aged a day, even though it’s been almost ten years. 

“Agent Hotchner, it’s good to see you.” Elizabeth Prentiss extends her hand, her mouth stretched in a thin line. “You might remember Olivia?” 

“Call me Aaron, Ma’am, and yes, I do. We spoke on the phone.” He gives the other woman a polite nod, but keeps his focus on Emily’s mother. It’s been a few years since she’d shown up in the BAU and even more since she was his boss, but she’s hardly aged a day. What he can’t help but notice is the resemblance between her and Emily - it’s never been more apparent than it is now. “I’m glad you were able to make it so quickly.” 

The tension in Elizabeth’s face increases ever so slightly as he takes her cold hand in his, offering a quick shake. “Aaron, where is Emily?” 

“In the ICU,” he says slowly, still unsure of where to start. He’d been purposefully vague on the phone, only relaying the most pertinent information -  _ Emily had been taken to the hospital, she needed to get there as soon as possible, he would explain upon her arrival, just please hurry. _

“Please, I need to know what happened?” For once, her formidable layers are gone, stripping her down to what she is - a mother, raw with worry and grief.

“I think it’s best we speak in private, ma’am.” 

The waiting room is empty now, as the rest of the team has dispersed, headed to the hotel Dave booked on his credit card, to get some sleep and shower. They haven’t quite figured out when they’ll leave Boston, or how they’ll get Emily home, but that’s a problem for later. And when the Ambassador sits down beside him, looking at Aaron with expectant eyes, he scarcely knows how to begin. 

…

“Can I get you anything, Ma’am?” Aaron asks, not for the first time, from his position the foot of Emily’s bed. Andy had reluctantly allowed them both to stay once Aaron had shown her in, making them promise it wouldn’t be for too long. “Something from the vending machine?” Only after he says it does it dawn on him Elizabeth Prentiss would most likely never touch anything that came from a vending machine. 

“Please, call me Elizabeth, Aaron. _Ambassador_ seems a bit pretentious now, and a bit unnecessary, don’t you think? And no, nothing for me, thank you.” The thin smile that graces her face all but evaporates when she looks at Emily again, and he notices her shoulders trembling just a little bit. She hadn’t wavered when she first entered the room, but it’s clearly starting to catch up to her as she processes everything she’s been told, all the things she didn’t know. 

As he expected, Elizabeth isn’t entirely dumbfounded by the news. But she listens as Aaron carefully relays all the pertinent details, and easily reads between the lines of everything he leaves out. “I always knew there was something she wasn’t telling me. I know my daughter well,” she says with a resigned sadness after he finishes his explanation, wringing her hands. “She’s always been so secretive, you know. Even as a child, Emily always had her secrets.” 

Aaron is  _ well aware _ of the depths of Emily’s secrecy. It’s part of what got them here in the first place. “I know.” 

“There was so much she never told me over the years. I didn’t exactly make it easy for her, you know.” Elizabeth takes Emily’s hand in hers, wearing the same guilt he feels. “But what I did know …” She trails off, unable to finish her sentence, bowing her head. 

_ Aaron is all too aware of that fact _ . 

“She was struggling. And I turned a blind eye for the sake of my career.” 

_ He had a front row seat to that, too.  _

“I failed her, in so many ways.” 

_ So did I. We all did.  _

There’s a heavy silence between them both, a recognition of the past and present, another collision of the two. He rests his gaze on Emily, briefly closing his eyes, hoping maybe this time he’ll wake up from this nightmare. 

“You’re together, aren’t you?” Elizabeth’s voice is softer than it was. Her words are less of a question and more of a confirmation of something she already knows.

“How did you know?” Aaron shifts from one foot to the other, uncomfortably put on the spot. Of all the conversations he expected to have today, this was certainly not one of them. 

“A mother always does.” There’s a slight curl of her lips that wasn’t there moments before. “Neither of you were ever very subtle about how you felt, Aaron. I caught on to things between the two of you fairly quickly the first time.” 

He stiffens, feeling ridiculously uncomfortable. Yet there’s no animosity in the Ambassador’s tone, no ill will. Instead, what he sees is quite the opposite- an attempted peace offering, perhaps? A mutual, tentative understanding they never had before.

“For how long?”

Now it’s his turn to smile, albeit quickly. “Depends which one of us you ask.”

“Sounds like my daughter.” There’s a soft laugh this time. “You’re the only person my Emily ever opened up to. I made a mistake, all those years ago, letting you go the way I did. Maybe if I hadn’t, you two wouldn’t be in this mess.” 

Aaron can’t help but wonder if she’s right, because that had been the beginning of their end, the first one at least. “Ma’am,” he begins, unsure of where to go next, and immediately forgetting her request.

“Elizabeth,” she reminds him pointedly. 

“Right.” The room suddenly feels too small for them both, and he nods politely as Elizabeth turns back to Emily, years worth of regret in her eyes. The moment feels too intimate, one he shouldn’t witness. “I’ll give you some time alone with her.” 

Thankfully, the vibrating phone in his pocket gives him an easy out, and he’s relieved for the escape as he shuts the door behind him. Strauss’s name on his phone screen can only mean one thing. He holds his breath while accepting the call, awaiting the inevitable tongue lashing from his boss.

“Agent Hotchner, what the  _ hell  _ happened?” On the other end of the call, Strauss does  _ not _ sound pleased.

“It was my understanding you were on vacation, Ma’am.” 

“I  _ was _ , but what is this I hear about the BAU’s clandestine trip to Boston? Do you care to explain just  _ what _ happened? And please, for the love of God, what the  _ hell  _ was Agent Prentss doing going after Ian Doyle  _ herself? _ ” 

“It’s a long story.” He already sounds strained and exhausted.

“Then I suggest you make yourself comfortable, and start talking.” 

He feels like a child being scolded as Strauss presses him for information, and she asks every question he’s been dreading, challenging his answers. For each of his replies she asks three more questions, and his head is spinning again as she mentions something about having to speak to her higher ups, that this won’t just get swept under the rug, and of course, the budgetary issues that come along with Emily’s hospitalization.

“There will be repercussions for this, you know.” Strauss sounds equal parts concerned and angry _,_ as he expected, and at a loss for words, something that doesn’t happen very often. “I will see what I can do to make sure your team is protected along with Agent Prentiss’s career. But you are on _thin_ ice from here on out.”

“Thank you,” Aaron says, his tone clipped and short, and in the background, he hears her sigh deeply. “Is there something else I can do for you, Chief Strauss?” 

Her tone softens just a bit. “Agent Prentiss is … how is she?”

“Critical, but stable. She’s not yet conscious. The doctors will know more once she is.” 

“Please keep me updated on her progress, Aaron. Despite the fact that I don’t condone these actions, I can only imagine how hard this is for your team. And for you as well.” It’s what she  _ doesn’t  _ say that tells him she probably knows a lot more than she’s letting on, and Aaron makes a mental note to ask Dave about  _ that _ later on. 

When he ends the call, he sits with his head in his hands, wondering just how much more of this he can take, as time continues to tick painfully.

From the corner of his eye some time later, Aaron spies Andy coming his way, striding purposefully with an elated look on his face, and he has to rub his eyes to make sure he isn’t imagining it. “She’s awake, Agent Hotchner. The doctors are looking for you. They’re going to extubate her shortly.” 

He nearly chokes on air as he follows Andy, his heart clenching in his chest. 

**...**

The deep breath he takes is the first that _doesn’t_ make his chest feel like it’s on fire as he rounds the corner into her room. Emily is _awake_ , her eyes blinking nervously as the doctor hovering above her calmly explains the invasive tube in her throat, that they’ll take it out in just a moment, to just relax. They let him stand by her side, a comforting presence, and Aaron clenches his hands into fists as the doctor tells her to exhale, and cringes as the thing is gently pulled from her throat. Emily coughs violently with the first gulp of air she takes, struggling to breathe for a few painful moments, and Aaron soothes her with a hand on her head, his own voice a whisper only she can hear.

The first thing Aaron notices, as the many hands of nurses and doctors remove some more of the tubes and wires connected to her, is that she’s impossibly pale, her skin almost translucent under the harsh hospital lights. The second is all the cuts and bruises on her face that were hidden by those tubes and wires. The third, and what he hates the most, is it’s clear she’s in pain even despite the heavy drugs pumping through her body. Before they leave them alone **,** the doctors warn him against pushing too hard, to keep things brief, because she  _ needs _ to rest, and any additional stress could setback the small steps of progress she’s already made **.**

Emily’s confusion is evident as her eyes flick around anxiously, widening almost impossibly when they rest on him, almost immediately filling with tears. She rasps something that sounds like his name, her throat raw and sore, confusion clouding her face.

“Don’t try to talk,” Aaron says gently, remembering the doctor’s words from just a few minutes before. “Whisper.” He’s still at her side, stroking her wrist with his fingers in a desperate attempt to soothe her, to keep her calm as the heavy reality starts to sink in. She’s trying so hard to remember, and a few frustrated tears fall from her eyes. “It’s okay,” Aaron murmurs. “Just relax.” 

“Where is he? Doyle?” Emily’s strained voice almost breaks his heart in half, for even upon regaining consciousness after almost bleeding out on the ground in Boston, it’s where her mind goes immediately. “He got away, didn’t he?” Her head rolls against the pillow, shoulders sagging in defeat. 

He shakes his head, forcing a small smile. “No he didn’t, sweetheart.” Aaron kisses her forehead, pushing some of her matted hair out of her face, noticing her wince. “You got him. He’s dead.”

Her head tilts to the side as her eyes search his, blinking through the lingering confusion. “But he ...I watched him go.” She swallows, her chest heaving with effort to breathe. “I watched him …” 

Aaron keeps his eyes locked on hers. “Ian Doyle is dead,” he says firmly, remembering what he’d told her in the warehouse as she hovered toward unconsciousness. She clearly remembers none of it. From this angle he can see the covered wound on her chest - where Doyle had branded her, an attempt to leave a piece of him with her forever. He hasn’t actually seen it - isn’t sure if he can handle it - but what he imagines is more than enough. 

“I remember now.” By now her forehead is damp with sweat, her skin clammy. “You said … did you kill him?”

“I finished what you started,” he says darkly. 

Emily grapples for his hand with her shaking one, grimacing at the sight of the IV tubing taped to the back. “What … what did you do, Aaron?” 

“I made you a promise years ago I would keep you safe, didn’t I?” Aaron laces his fingers around hers, presses his lips to her forehead again. “It’s over.”  _ And maybe it is, but it’s only just beginning. Another mountain to climb, bonds of trust to rebuild, not to mention her physical recovery.  _

Her face darkens with exhaustion, crippled with understanding. She’s only been awake a few minutes, but she already looks drained. “Where is everyone? Are they … are they safe?”  _ Had Ian gotten to any of them? What isn’t he telling her?  _

“Everyone is safe, Emily,” Aaron says gently, feeling her palm start to sweat against his. “They’re at the hotel.” 

“Hotel?” She looks even more confused now. 

“Dave,” Aaron says simply. “They’ll be back this afternoon.” Then he hesitates, wondering if he should share the second part. He glances at the closed door, where surely Elizabeth is waiting behind, just a few feet away. 

“What aren’t you telling me?” Emily groans, licking her dry, cracked lips, studying his face. “I know there’s something you aren’t telling me.” 

“Your mother is here. She arrived a little while ago.”

Emily visibly stiffens, understanding the implications of what _that_ means. “So it was that bad, huh?” She lifts a hand, her fingers drifting over the blankets at her waist, finding the wound that’s been stitched and dressed, but very sore. It’s still numb, but if she closes her eyes, she can still see what was there hours before **.** _Oh my God._

He chooses his words carefully, but it’s not worth it. She knows already. “Things were … they,” he can’t quite formulate the words that have hovered in his mind since the ambulance doors opened. “We weren’t sure if …

“You thought I was going to -” 

“Stop,” Aaron says firmly, unable to even entertain the thought. He brushes a finger over her lips then trails it over her cheek. “Don’t even think about it. You’re safe now. This nightmare is over.” 

Emily is strangely unbothered by his confirmation as her eyes drift shut then flutter open again. “I’m so tired, Aaron. I’m sorry.” She winces, clearly exhausted just from their short conversation, not to mention the sedative effect of the painkillers, the drug-induced haze.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, leaning over to press a kiss to her cheek “Close your eyes. I’ll stay with you for awhile.” He moves his chair closer, within arm’s reach if she needs him, waiting until her chest rises and falls evenly. Only after he’s certain she’s asleep does Aaron finally close his eyes, too, the first bit of rest he’s had in days. 

…

The days that follow are no less exhausting than the previous, and while Emily seemingly defies odds, her progress amazing the doctors who’d strongly doubted she’d even get off the table, her recovery brings on new challenges. The first, of course, is how she’ll get home. A commercial flight is out of the question, a road trip an even worse idea.

In the end, it’s decided she’ll be airlifted to Bethesda, where she’ll spend another few days recovering. While Aaron can’t confirm Strauss had  _ something _ to do with those logistics, he has a feeling they owe her one, because it’s all arranged before he can even formally put the request in. When Aaron questions him, Dave turns a blind eye without more than a wink as the rest of the team departs for Quantico in the jet. Aaron will stay behind with Emily, of course, which seems to placate Elizabeth enough so that she leaves Boston as well, only after she reminds them both that DC is close by, and that they both have her cell phone number. He watches the awkward goodbye between Emily and her mother from the side of the room, averting his eyes as they attempt to hug, which proves to be a challenge with multiple fractured ribs.

The day before she’s slated to leave, Clyde Easter shows up outside her room, and Aaron can’t help but wonder if he ever takes off the damn leather jacket or scarf. It’s how he waits in the doorway without saying a word, just a glance of acknowledgement between him and Emily, that tells Aaron they need a moment alone. “I’ll be right outside,” he says, gathering the small pile of paperwork he’s been flipping through since the doctor had left the room. 

“You scared us all, you know.” Clyde says smoothly as he takes a seat in Aaron’s chair. “But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Emily rolls her eyes and sits up gingerly. “Certainly wouldn’t be the first time.” She’s still relying on pain medication heavily, but some of her strength and color has returned. She’s grateful for that, because Clyde looks almost rattled by the fact he’s sitting next to her in a hospital. “We got him,” she adds quietly.

“You got him,” He corrects her, but his blue eyes shine just a little less brightly than they did before. “Like I always knew you would.” 

“You and Sean both,” Emily says thoughtfully, as the look on Clyde’s face already answers her next question, one she’s been afraid to ask. “Sean is dead, isn’t he? Doyle got to him first.” 

“Yes. Rebecca and Adaleigh, too. They were found dead in Brussels a few days ago.” 

Emily looks away then down at her lap, the thought of breaking into tears with her ribs still broken not an appeasing one. “He nearly took us all out in the end. He almost won, Clyde. He almost got me too.” She’s spent the last few days trying to process this. She _should_ feel relief, a sense of peace over the fact that she can close this door. But it’s not at all like that. It was _too close_ ** _._** They’d all gotten too close this time, and things could have gone horribly wrong.

“But he didn’t. You get to walk out of here.” 

“I definitely won’t be walking out of anywhere for a while” Emily retorts sarcastically. “In case you haven’t forgotten.” The only walks she’s taken are short loops around the hospital wing. Just a few minutes of that leaves her breathless and sweaty as Aaron hovers around her, a strained expression on his face.

“You know what I meant.” 

She regards him silently for a few minutes. He’s always been comfortable with silence. It’s one of the things Emily appreciates about Clyde. “It’s hard to believe all of this is over, you know?” 

“It’s never over, Darling. There will always be more like him,” he offers casually. “We know that all too well.” 

“Why are you here, Clyde?” Emily asks sharply. She knows this side of him, what his motives might be.  _ He’ll never leave this world behind. No matter what. He’ll always be chasing monsters.  _ She supposes someone has to.

“To say goodbye. I hear you’re being discharged in the morning.” There’s more to what he’s saying. There usually always is, and she waits for him to confirm what she’s expecting. 

“Something tells me you want more than that.” 

He considers his words carefully, glancing behind him at the door. “You know where to find me, if you ever change your mind.” Clyde leans in and gives her a quick kiss, one that feels like an offer and a farewell all in one. “Something tells me I’ll see you again.” 

“Those days are over.” She attempts to sound convincing, but now she’s just tired, his words swimming in her head as she presses down on the pump controlling her pain medication. 

“That’s what you said the last time, if I remember correctly.” 

She twists the blanket in her fingers, not wanting to admit that he might be right once again. From her place she can see Aaron’s dark head lingering by the door, and the tiny warning voice in the back of her head has never been stronger.

Clyde disappears as stealthily as he came with nothing more than a quick nod in Aaron’s direction. Emily pretends not to notice his pressing stare when he fills in the missing spot beside her bed once again. 

“All good?” Aaron asks, dropping back into the chair at her side, taking her hand in his. 

“Yeah. Just tired.” 

But as she falls asleep, something tells him it’s more than that.

...

The second challenge is her recovery - the emotional, but also the physical. Even after they’re home from the Bethesda hospital, she’s still exhausted, the pain a near constant, and for the first few days, Emily sleeps for the majority of the day as her body continues to heal. 

Aaron has to swallow his anger when he sees the full extent of her injuries for the first time once they’re home. The bruising on her ribs has faded a bit, but the scar on her abdomen makes him nauseous, sending him right back to that warehouse and finding her with blood pouring from the gaping wound **.** He can’t help but stare at it as Emily averts her eyes with embarrassment when he helps her into the shower, her clothes in a heap on the ground. He  _ cringes _ when he sees the brand mark on her chest. Her eyes are full of shame when he removes the gauze wraps for the first time to apply the antibiotic treatment regimen she’s been given. It’s ugly as it heals, red and weeping, and he tenderly dabs the various medications into her skin.

“You shouldn’t have to do this,” Emily tells him one day, her eyes on the ceiling as Aaron carefully focuses on his task. She winces at his touch, the medication burning more than it normally does. She hates being so reliant on him, but the truth is her healing has taken a lot out of her, and most days she barely has energy to walk around her apartment, let alone tend to her grueling healing regimen of medications and aftercare instructions.

“I’m almost done.” He’s been so careful to not cause her anymore pain throughout all of this, and today is no different. And then a thought comes into his mind, one he can’t ignore. “I read your letter, you know.” He’s been wanting to bring it up, yet hasn’t quite found the right time. There’s been so much to handle and process, after all. 

Emily tenses under his touch. “I had a feeling you would.”  _ She’d left it purposefully, anyway, but she never expected to have this conversation.  _

“You never told me any of that.” 

“How could I, after everything that happened? You were with Haley by then, and you were still married when I got back. Not like I could have just handed it off to you casually to save for a rainy day.” She scoffs, looking slightly uncomfortable at the direction of the conversation.

“What you wrote in your letter,” he says, uncharacteristically stumbling over his words, grateful for the distraction with his hands, “is why I’m doing this.”

“What do you mean?” She sounds defensive, and he touches his free hand to her cheek. 

“I love you,” he says simply, helping her sit up. “Always have. That will never change.”

It’s the way she frowns ever so slightly before pushing a smile on her lips when he wonders, not for the first time in his life, if it will be enough. 

...

The third and final challenge might be the very one that destroys them one more time. Ian Doyle might be dead, but something else died with him in the warehouse that night. As life returns to a relative normal, things spiral out of control once again. 

There’s barely time to process anything, all let alone talk about it. Ashley’s departure is overshadowed by JJ’s return, and while the familiarity should bring a sense of relief, it has the opposite effect. It only makes Emily more distant, as if time moves in two directions - backwards and forwards. They’re simultaneously dragged back to the past as life moves on, leaving them in another awkward state of limbo. The team welcomes her back, avoiding the tough questions, yet it’s clear things aren’t what they used to be. It’s a slow decline but it’s evident things might never be the same. Everyone keeps a respectful distance, gently reminding Aaron healing is a process that takes time, but he’s been around long enough to know otherwise. 

In the midst of their cases, she barely hangs on, as if on autopilot to make it through the day, and another after that. Nights are the worst. At first, Emily sleeps soundly, her body still weary from healing, numbed by the painkillers. But the nightmares start soon after she stubbornly refuses to take another pill, gritting her teeth through the worst of it. And even though he wants to persuade her otherwise, the frustration in her eyes warns him to not push the issue.

The nightmares that come in the dark depths of the night, with an intensity that leaves her exhausted yet unable to seek any relief, are terrifying. Sometimes he wakes up before it’s too late, and rocks her against him while she cries softly into his neck. Her tears soak his shirts, her pain-laced breathing persistent in his ear,

Other times, they’re not as lucky. On more than one occasion, Aaron wakes up to her muffled screams, crying in her sleep. Sometimes she cries out his name, other times it’s Ian’s he hears on her lips, begging him to _stop_ , others it’s a frantic uttering that Declan is alive. But most nights, the terror is in her head, a special form of hell only she knows. One night, he’s awoken by her screams, and when he flips the light on, riddled with fatigue, he’s horrified at what he sees. She’s moaning and crying, her face twisted with anguish, her eyes squeezed shut, practically twisting off his bed.

“Wake up, Emily,” he soothes, getting the covers off her and pushing her hair from her sweat-soaked forehead. “Open your eyes. I’m right here.” His pleas go unnoticed, and when she does open her eyes, the only thing he sees is fear. 

“Get it out. Aaron please,” Emily wails, her hands clawing at the invisible piece of wood that had once protruded from her abdomen, her nails scraping against pale skin with the incision still an angry, healing shade of pink. She’s panting, the pain from her ribs piercing and throbbing, coughing to draw ragged breaths into her lungs.  _ She’s having flashbacks,  _ he thinks.

“There’s nothing there, Emily. You’re going to hurt yourself,” he reminds her, gently getting his hands around her wrists to stop her. “Relax,” he whispers, doing his best not to scare her anymore. “It’s a nightmare, sweetheart. Nothing more.” He holds her still, and when her breathing slows, he pulls her into his arms in an attempt to comfort her. 

It only makes her cry harder. “I’m sorry, Aaron,” she hiccups once the worst of it is over, her face red and splotchy, eyes swollen. 

“Why are you apologizing?” 

She pushes him away, even though all she wants is the comfort of his embrace. “I’m so fucking sick of this. When is this going to stop?” 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he offers, because he doesn’t have an answer to her question. 

_ She’ll never have enough apologies for the damage she’s created.  _

Her nightmare the following week not only wakes Aaron, but Jack, too, much to his chagrin. 

This time, it’s too late to stop it because it’s already started when he finally awakens from a deep sleep of his own. By the time his eyes are fully open, it’s morphed into a panic attack. She’s crying and panting, and when Aaron puts his hand to her wrist to check her pulse, he finds it racing beneath his fingers. “Come on,” he says, practically hauling her to her feet and in the direction of the bathroom. 

Emily obeys, leaning her weight on him as he gets the shower turned on, not even bothering to take off her clothes or let the water turn hot. She sinks down, rocking back and forth with her head in her hands as Aaron rubs her back in slow, gentle circles, the spray soaking them both relentlessly. History has had them here before, and while he should know what to do, he’s never felt more powerless. “Relax,” he whispers, not sure of what else to do, keeping his thumb on her pulse as her breathing evens into gasps. “Please, Emily, try and relax.” 

“Daddy?” The small voice from the hallway makes him freeze, and Emily just covers her face with both hands miserably. 

“Jack, go back to your room,” Aaron orders him as his son stands outside the bathroom, his tiny hand hitting the knob. “I’ll be there in a few minutes, okay?” He gets to his feet, peering around the door to find Jack in his Star Wars pajamas, hair tousled and feet bare. He’s blinking sleep from his eyes, a tiny scowl on his lips.

“What’s wrong with Emily?” His son looks terrified, a toy under his arm, his lower lip shaking. “Why is she crying? And why are you all wet, Daddy?” 

“Nothing, Buddy. She’s just having a bad dream.” Aaron glances helplessly between his son and Emily, the shower running full blast over her shaking body. 

“Is she scared about something, Daddy? Did you ask her why she’s scared? You always ask me why I’m scared when I wake up in the middle of the night.” 

“I did. She’ll be okay, Jack. I’m going to make sure she’s okay, I promise.” 

“Can you give this to her?” Jack passes over his lightsaber under his arm with a yawn. “This helps with bad guys. I want to help Emily too, just like you, Daddy.”

Aaron’s throat tightens as his hand wraps around the plastic light up toy, and he can hear a sob rack through Emily’s body. “Thanks, Jack. I’ll give it to Emily. I promise. Go back to sleep. I’ll come check on you in a minute.” He runs a hand through his wet hair, willing his son to fall asleep quickly. 

And when the door closes, still holding the lightsaber in his hands, he wonders if they’ll ever fight off the demons they can’t seem to escape from. 

**...**

But a few nights later in Buffalo, he can’t even deny her when Emily presses her body against his, indicating exactly what she wants only a little while after she shows up at his door. Aaron wants to say no - he  _ should _ say no, but after a long pause, he acquiesces. Denying her has never come easy to him. 

He’s almost too careful, Emily thinks with frustration, and she scrapes at his chest with her nails as he shifts them so she straddles his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs. She groans as she sinks down on him in a smooth descent, her eyes widening at the stretch of her body around him for the first time in weeks. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Aaron says softly with a groan once he’s fully sheathed inside of her. He’s sliding his hands up and over her ribs, as if making sure they aren’t still fractured under his hands.  _ He’s pretty sure it’s still too soon to be doing this. _ “Are you -” 

“You won’t hurt me, Aaron. I’m  _ fine _ .” Emily closes her eyes and starts rocking her hips back and forth, desperate to feel something other than the numb ache that’s been settling into her heart and her mind for the last few weeks. 

He knows she’s not even remotely close to fine, but she breaks apart seconds later, his name a cry on her lips, and he follows suit, forgetting all about her ribs as he wraps an arm around her, holding her tight against his chest. She’d never tell him this but it hurts worse than she ever imagined it would, and her eyes burn with tears as he whispers into her ear just how much he loves her. 

The nightmares return with a vengeance less than a few hours later.

It’s over coffee the next morning, in the hotel room in Buffalo **,** when Emily says the words he’s been expecting. “I think,” she says, her eyes a shadow of what they once were, the light gone from her face. “I think some space is what we both need right now. When we’re at home.” 

_ It’s the first step of many, but he knows her ways by now. This is her, pushing away, like she’s always done.  _ “Have you considered talking to someone?” He presses her gently, knowing full well whatever she told the Bureau psychiatrist wasn’t remotely close to the truth. She’d gone the requisite amount of sessions and not once more. 

“I don’t need a therapist, Aaron.” Her tone is biting and harsh, as he expected it would be. “Don’t patronize me.” 

“It might help to talk about some of it, you know. I know it hasn’t been -” 

“Did you ever take that advice?” She snaps, anger rising in her voice. “Pretty sure Strauss told you the same thing a few years ago.” 

“I wasn’t having nightmares, Emily. You haven’t slept in days. And don’t try to lie to me about it. You had a nightmare last night.” 

“I’m  _ fine _ , Aaron.” She slams her cup onto the nightstand in frustration, sending hot brown liquid all over, splattering drops on the white sheets. “I think it’s best we spend some time at our own places. Once we’re home. Until things get better.”  _ she tells herself it’s because of the nightmares, but it’s not just that.  _

“I’m worried about you,” he says as she stalks toward the bathroom, the door shutting firmly behind her. “You really shouldn’t be alone.”

_ Maybe she’s always been better off alone.  _

_... _

Two days later, she pulls out her phone and dials a number she’s held safe in the back of her mind, one she’s never fully forgotten over the years. The other person answers on the first ring, like she expected they would. 

“Hello?” It’s a voice she knows all too well, one she’d never miss.

“Hey, it’s me. I think … I think I might take you up on what you said. Let’s talk.” 

_ … _

She’s slipping away like she did once before, and this time, he knows he’ll never get her back. The final straw comes a few weeks later, on a tense evening at his place. She’d been distant, seemingly distracted for over a week but it’s come to a head tonight. In fact, she’s barely said more than two words at his pressing questions. 

Finally, he can’t take it anymore. “Are you going to tell me what you’re hiding?” Aaron asks when she can’t escape, as they’re getting ready for bed. 

“I’m not hiding anything,” she says a little too defensively for his liking, sighing with annoyance as she tugs the covers down. “What gives you that idea?” 

“You haven’t been yourself at all, Emily. For a while now. Don’t you see that?” 

“I don’t see a difference,” she says, forcing herself to remain calm.  _ Please just stop talking _ . 

“Is there something going on?” He asks before he can stop himself. Not that he actually believes it to be true, but he’s  _ hurting _ as much as she is, powerless to stop any of this. It’s the first thing that comes to his mind, fueled by his own emotions that are running rampant in his mind. But she’s been  _ secretive _ , too - phone calls and messages at odd hours - and it’s fleetingly crossed his mind more than once. 

“What?” She shakes her head incredulously, making sense of what he’s just said, reading between the lines of his question. “No.” She looks confused, angry even. “Aaron I haven't been with anyone except you except - “

“Besides him.” When he says it, he immediately wishes he could take it back. The color all but drains from her face, her eyes wide with hurt as she takes a few steps away from him, her back against the wall. The insinuation is stinging, the weight of his words heavy and thick in the air between them. 

“That was low, Aaron. To bring Ian into this … that was  _ low.” _ She’s seething now, gritting her teeth in anger, already grabbing for the sweatshirt on the chair. “I - I need to get out of there.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, the heat rising to his own face in self-loathing. “Emily, I’m so sorry I -”

“You really think I would do that to you? After what Haley did? After everything  _ we’ve _ been through? You think I would  _ fucking _ do that? What the  _ fuck  _ is wrong with you?” She’s keeping a brave face but he sees her lip trembling as she shoves her feet into her shoes.

“Emily, I - “ 

“If you don’t know me better than that after all this time, Aaron, then what are we doing?”

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Emily stares at him expectantly, her mouth pressed into a thin, angry line.

“What did Mommy do?” The small voice coming from behind them peers around the corner comes from Jack, having overheard every bit of their conversation. “Daddy, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Buddy.” The attempt to placate him fails as Jack starts crying, sobbing for Haley, and Aaron has never felt more torn. He moves toward Jack, wrapping him into a hug, his back to Emily as he comforts his son. 

_ That’s her cue to leave. This has spiraled out of control for too long.  _ She slips past them both and into the dark night without looking back, the cool air a welcomed reprieve. 

_ Maybe gone is where I belong. _

On the way back to her apartment, she fights back tears and dials the same number as before. “You were right,” she says before the other person can even utter a greeting. “Draw up the agreement. I’ll sign the papers.” 

...

The instant Aaron sees Clyde Easter in the BAU, he knows something is wrong. But he’s deep in conversation with Strauss, and it’s immediately clear Emily planned this purposefully, at a time he would be distracted. It’s all he needs to know what she’s planning. He knows her too well at this point to think anything else. And so he watches the two of them, their heads bent together conspiratorially, as any semblance of attention on the meeting goes out the window. 

He waits until the bullpen is empty and Clyde long gone to confront her, catching her off guard at her desk where she’s bent over some leftover paperwork, deep in concentration. He wants to ask what she’s still doing here, why she hasn’t gone home, but doesn’t want to give her any reason to bow out of the conversation. 

“What was Clyde Easter doing here?” 

Her spine stiffens at the sound of his voice, but she doesn’t look up. “Nothing.” 

“Don’t give me that.” 

“Last I checked,” Emily says evenly, finally turning her chin up. “It wasn’t your business.” The annoyance in her voice is evident; she’s clearly unwilling to have a conversation about any of this.

He deserves it - her anger, her reticence. He hurt her the other day, not for the first time, and they’re running out of chances to make this right. “I’m sorry. For what I said. I was out of line. It’s not what I think, or even remotely close to the truth.” 

She sighs deeply, running a hand through her hair with a shake of her head, a sad resignation. “Aren’t you tired of this, Aaron? We’ve been fooling ourselves for too long.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“What happens when two people just can’t get it together?” Her words are a haunting echo from the past, many times over. “Do you ever just think maybe in the end … none of this is even  _ worth _ it? That maybe we should just … move on?” Her fingers brush over something on her desk that was originally hidden by a stack of papers. He’d recognize that seal anywhere.  _ Interpol. _

It can only mean one thing.

“You’re going to leave, aren’t you?” His voice thickens.  _ This is it.  _ “That’s why Clyde was here.”

She nods her head, albeit slowly. “I have to, Aaron. This  _ isn’t _ working. Me. Us.  _ This.  _ It’s not worth it anymore.” She glances around, staring every direction but his. “And I can’t … I can’t stay here unless I’m … “ Emily coughs nervously, fumbling with the papers on her desk. “I can’t be here and  _ not _ be with you.” 

“Look at me,” he demands, waiting until her eyes find his. He stares her down, unable to break her gaze even though it all but shatters his heart when he sees the steely determination in her face. “I think you’re making a huge mistake. And to answer your question, it’s  _ always _ been worth it to me. I’m sorry you can’t say the same for yourself.” He doesn’t recognize the coldness in his own tone, one he’s never used with her before, as he spins on his heel, needing to get away from her as quickly as possible. 

Sooner than later, it’s a done deal, and everything crumbles to dust around him. 

…

Aaron finds it all painfully ironic.

JJ’s return was the impetus Will needs to  _ finally _ pop the question he’s been sitting on for years, while his relationship with Emily has all but dissolved before his very eyes. Yet it’s a wedding, a celebration of love and the future for two of his closest, dearest friends. He’s been cautiously avoiding the circled date on his calendar for a while now, and even more now that Emily’s departure is scheduled.

The days slip past, double digits turning into single ones, and soon enough, there’s no time left. The team mourns her departure before she’s even gone, and Emily assures them with a casual smile that nothing will change, just a few miles between them, but he knows there’s nothing further from the truth. It will change everything, forever.

It seems heartbreakingly cruel that one of their last nights together will be spent at a wedding, and every minute of it is as painful as he expected. Yet he smiles, even laughs at a few moments throughout, but there isn’t a moment he doesn’t have a drink in his hands. 

There’s a finality in Emily’s eyes when she slowly agrees to dance with him, and a hesitancy in his touch when he draws her into his arms, a gentle hand across her back like he’s done countless times. There’s a shared smile between them as he sways her, albeit pained, because she looks  _ beautiful _ \- so much that he wants to freeze time.

“Come on,” he says before he can stop himself, when the song ends.  _ He can’t bring himself to let go. Not yet. This cannot be the end.  _ “Let’s get out of here.” Aaron half expects her to balk, but she lets him take her hand as they make their exit.

The newlyweds are too blissfully happy to even notice them slip away. Penelope is twirling under Derek’s arm and Dave is cutting a rug with Strauss by now. Only Reid seems to catch on, an oblivious smile on his face as he waves goodbye. 

And while they’d been similarly dancing not too long ago, disguised by their happy facade, the smiles have melted from their faces as they make their way to Aaron’s car. Their strides match, one foot in front of the other, until he’s opening the passenger side door and she’s sliding into the seat.

The drive is quiet, each lost in their own respective thoughts as he makes the short trip back to his place. It’s all come down to this, and he hardly breathes as he pulls into the parking lot, wondering if it’s all a huge mistake. 

“What are we doing, Aaron?”

“I don’t know,” he says simply, turning the car off, leaving them in silence. He takes her hand, turning it over in his own, then kisses the delicate skin of her knuckles in the dark. “But what would you say about one last drink? For old time’s sake?”

“One last drink,” She agrees with a soft smile, and she isn’t sure whose heart will shatter first come morning when the only thing left to say is goodbye. But once they’re inside, he pours her the drink he promised, and she holds the glass of gin in her hands, the liquid blurring her memories as the clock hands turn. There are years of the past, and there  _ should _ be years ahead of them, but time has moved in two directions for too long, never catching up to each other.

There’s not much left to say. There aren’t any words to summarize the ache in his chest or hers, or the inevitable sense of loss that will set in once the sun rises. 

There’s just one thing left to do. 

Emily leans in to kiss him, and Aaron stiffens beside her, because there’s nothing he wants more than her, but the pain of knowing he can’t keep her all too consuming. Yet he gives in and kisses her back, slipping his fingers into her hair and curling an arm around her waist. She tastes like gin, remnants of perfume on her neck. Her body is warm against his, the familiar press of her weight against his another memory he’ll soon file away.  _ One more time _ . 

It’s anything but the frantic and frenzied encounter she’s anticipating. Instead, it’s slow and patient, unhurried and careful. Emily closes her eyes when his head dips between her legs, drags her fingers in his hair as he easily gets her knees over his shoulders and takes her apart with his mouth. The first time it happens, she’s quiet, nothing more than a whimper as her hands pull at his hair, her back lifting off the bed as Aaron coaxes out the last waves of pleasure that course through her body with a practiced ease. 

“I’m going to miss you,” Aaron murmurs as he settles over her. “So much.” When he pushes inside of her in one smooth but torturously slow movement, the moan that escapes from her is one he’ll never forget. Aaron holds himself above her without moving, unable to tear his gaze away. He studies her face, the flutter of her eyelashes as he whispers to her how beautiful she is, how perfect she feels, kissing her until she’s begging him to move. Her eyes burn as he reaches for her hands, holding them in his own as he sets a pace, his hips deliberate and his thrusts full. He drops his head to her chest, kissing over the scar that still remains, and she flinches, her hands still tangled in his so she can’t pull him away. He lingers there, dropping kisses on her chest as the tempo of his hips increases **.**

“Aaron,” she begs because she’s  _ almost there _ , her legs tightening around his hips to bring him closer. “I’m going to-“

His lips seal over hers, stifling her as she keens into his mouth as he sends her over for the second time. Aaron smiles against her mouth as Emily writhes against him, her hands squeezing his in her own. And when he pulls away, he memorizes the look on her beautiful face, her eyes blissfully closed and her head thrown back. 

With one more erratic push Aaron follows suit, spilling his release into her as she pants in his ear, still coming down from her own. He nearly collapses on top of her but manages to maneuver them both so instead his arms are wrapped around her, bringing her so close against him they’re practically melded together. 

Emily is still trembling in his arms some time later, the aftershocks of two orgasms coursing through her. “I love you,” he whispers, pulling her as close as he can, pressing an ear to her heart. “So much.” It’s the way he holds her, his fingers drifting down the dip of her spine, his head against her chest, that makes her feel so inherently cherished she wonders if she’s imagined the last ten years of her life, with and without him.

“I know,” Emily breathes into his ear, her eyes hooded and glazed with a mix of lust and tears. “And I love you. I always have. You know that, right?” 

_ He does _ . “Then don’t go.”

“It’s for the best, Aaron,” she says, her own arms around his neck, a hand cupped against his cheek. “Sometimes, it’s just not enough. I think time has showed us that.” 

Sleep comes, her exhausted body curling into his out of habit. As her eyes drift shut, a tear falls out because come morning, the one final goodbye that awaits is one she may never fully recover from. 

Less than five hours later, Emily wakes up, his bed draped in sunshine, but any semblance of peace she’d felt towards her impending departure has seemingly vanished as she stares at the outline of his body under the sheets.  _ You always run,  _ she berates herself. _ You’re a coward.  _ But she ran once, and even though she promised herself she wouldn’t ever again, the past is too easy to repeat. She’s been repeating the past for so long, a never ending vicious cycle of events she’s never been able to fully outrun. She rolls over when he starts to move, the first of what will most likely be a painful, thin chain of next moments.

“Are you awake?” He asks softly, but he already knows the answer. 

“I’m still here.” She expects him to draw him into her arms but he doesn’t. 

“When do you leave?” 

“Tomorrow.” The word sounds thick in her throat, in her mind she wants to scream. “Tomorrow night.” 

He gently rolls her onto her back, and Emily clutches a pillow to her chest to keep some space between them. “I … I can make you breakfast,” Aaron says quietly. His voice is gravelly and rough, and she knows he probably didn’t get much sleep at all. “Coffee, too.” 

She blinks furiously, seeing right through his intentions to keep her there as long as he can. “No. I… I should probably go. I have a lot to do … before … you know.” 

“Yeah.” He brushes some of her hair behind her ear, fingers lingering along her cheek for what might be the very last time, resigned to the fact this is it. “I guess you should.”

Emily pulls the sheet around her body tightly, gathering her clothes along the way to the bathroom. The harsh light burns her eyes, illuminates her skin in an unflattering, almost pasty glow, calling emphasis to the marks he’d left on her skin. His teeth, his fingers, his lips - those remains of the previous hours are the last bit of him she’ll keep with her. In time, those marks will be gone too. She rinses herself off in the shower, watching the soapy water spin down the drain, and before she turns off the water, she takes one last whiff of his shampoo, pretending it doesn’t make her eyes sting when she does it. 

She gathers her things from the living room - her abandoned shoes, her purse, the blue wrap. She shoves the delicate fabric into her purse and then on afterthought tosses it around her shoulders. She feels too exposed without it. “I’ll call when I’m settled in a couple of days.”  _ It’s a lie _ . 

_ He knows it’s a lie _ . “Please don’t do this, Emily.” 

“I have to do this, Aaron. We both know it.”  _ She doesn’t want to do this. Not anymore. But there’s no other choice. _

_ She cannot walk through that door _ . “Have you ever thought maybe we aren’t meant to be apart? It’s his last plea, one more attempt. That we keep running into each other for a reason?”

_ Only every day of her life for the last ten years. _ “But then what?  _ Every _ single time we are even remotely happy for a period of time, something terrible happens soon after. I can’t live my life waiting for that next terrible thing.” Her chest is being splintered in half, the words coming a little too quickly and her hands shake. “Everything we touch gets destroyed one way or another.” 

He shakes his head, instinctively stepping in front of the door. “I’m not letting you walk away one more time. Didn’t you learn _anything_ all those years ago? What about the letter, Emily? You can’t do this.” 

“You’re not going to be able to stop me.”  _ Walking away is all she has to do, because this time, she’s not coming back. Just a few more steps forward out that door. _ “It’s done. Please, don’t make this any harder.” 

“Yes I am.” 

“Fucking try me, Aaron.” 

He stares at her for a few long moments, time standing still between them both. “Fine.” He gets both hands around her arms, holding her still, mere inches away from him, his dark eyes searching hers.

Marry me,” he says simply, as if he’s asking what she wants in her coffee or something else equally mundane. 

There’s nothing but silence for a few long moments, her eyes growing bigger when she realizes nothing about this is a joke. “What are you … you’re saying ....” There’s a lump growing in her throat, recognizing his words as an ultimatum, his final play. “You’re serious.” 

“You’re right, I’m fucking serious.” And then he drops onto one knee in the middle of his living room, reaching into his pocket for the black velvet box he’s stared in some capacity at every day for almost two years. “In fact, I’ve never been more serious.” His hands are shaking tremendously, not from effort but from nerves, as he pulls the lid to reveal the ring that’s been tucked away since the weekend they spent at the beach with Jack, what seems like a lifetime ago. “Marry me, Emily.” 

Nestled in the box is a ring, the most beautiful one she’s ever seen, exactly her taste, not that she expects anything less from him. No one knows her better than him, after all. She could have picked it herself - a pear-cut halo diamond ring **,** a tasteful size - staring right back at her. 

When she opens her mouth, two words on her lips, a tear falls from her eye, then another, until they’re streaming down her face. 

“Aaron,” she begins. “I - “

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3 Stay tuned for the FINAL chapter coming soon!
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr!](https://%5Bjetaime-jespere%5D.tumblr.com/)


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